


Rise Up

by SicklyRaven



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Depression, F/M, Finally Complete!, In The Flesh AU, Lawyers, M/M, Mild Gore, Past Sexual Abuse, Roommates, Self-Harm, Social Justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 273,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SicklyRaven/pseuds/SicklyRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton's life wasn't easy. His second life seems to be off to a rough start too.</p><p>At least he has friends this time around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. AKA Prologue – In which Aaron Burr goes out on a Friday

7 AM. The alarm clock starts buzzing, like it does every day.

He turns it off and rolls out of bed, effortless but without enthusiasm either. Another day, another dollar. He finds his slippers. He knows the tiles of the floor are really cold in the morning – it's the middle of November but the heat in the building hasn't been turned on in months. There's just no use for it.

On his way to the bathroom, he stops in front of his only mirror.

"My name is Aaron Burr," he tells the pale face looking back at him. "I'm not a monster. I'm a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer." The face looks as tired to hear the words as he is to repeat them. "What I did in my untreated state was not my fault."

It's been three years since he died; two and a half since he came back, one of the thousands of brainless, brain-hungry fiends that suddenly, inexplicably rose from their graves and tore countless people apart; eight months since he completed his treatment and was sent back to the world. The doctors advised him to do his affirmations in front of a mirror because it will help him reconcile his new self with the old one. He should understand that none of what happened was his fault, they said; it's important he forgives himself, they said.

The world hasn't forgiven him.

He showers, gets his medication, gets dressed, goes back to the mirror. He puts in his contacts, hiding his pinprick eyes under fake pupils, and methodically starts rubbing cover up mousse on his face, neck, hands, even his arms in case his sleeves roll up and reveal the dead shade of his skin. The last thing he needs is his client firing him because he is one of _those_ , the PDS sufferers who think they have a right to walk the street looking like rabid zombies after what they've done.

When he's finished darkening his skin he grabs his briefcase and gets out. He's going to be perfectly on time for work, as usual. He realized very soon that now more than ever, he can't afford to slack off. You _can_ make it as a PDS sufferer in this brave new world – you just have to work hard, keep your head down, and be patient enough to wait for your moment. Aaron is willing to wait.

* * *

7 PM. There's a stranger sitting on the stairs of the building.

Aaron doesn't like it. In his experience, any change to his routine can bring nothing but trouble and after a long day of work Aaron isn't looking for trouble. Moreover, the guy looks like bad news: he's camped right under the front door, a dirty backpack stuffed full at his feet and not a single layer of cover-up on. Nor contacts – he turns when he hears Aaron approach the building, and his dead eyes looking straight into Aaron's contacts make Aaron feel slightly insulted.

Trouble, trouble, trouble.

Aaron tries to walk past him without a second look, but the stranger stands up when Aaron gets closer, effectively preventing him from getting inside.

"Excuse me," he says, and the determination in his voice is obviously trying to hide his nervousness. "Are you Aaron Burr?"

Aaron purses his lips. Why is a complete stranger looking for him? If this is his good-for-nothing neighbors trying to pull another prank on him, he's going to have them evicted once and for all. "Who wants to know?" he inquires, as politely as he can.

"Oh, right. I'm Alexander Hamilton," the guy introduces himself in a rush. He doesn't even offer Aaron his hand to shake. "I'm so sorry to barge in on you like this, but I kinda need help and I've been told I should come talk to you. See, I've just moved into the city a week ago and I'm in desperate need of a job. You're a lawyer, right?"

"Yes," Aaron confirms. This is getting weirder by the minute.

Alexander must be oblivious to his interlocutor's uneasiness, because he lights up. "Great! I'm a lawyer too. Well, I passed the Bar exam, at least. You know, before the Rising. And you're PDS, just like me."

 _No, not just like you_ , Aaron wants to tell him. _I'm a civilized, contributing member of society, while you go around looking like you're ready to go on a rampage any minute._

"So?" he asks instead, doing his best to be diplomatic.

"So you can help me out," Alexander says, like it's obvious. "You've succeeded where I can't. I've talked to a dozen different law firms and they all turned me down. They want nothing to do with PDS sufferers – not that they had the guts to admit it, obviously. Well, except the guy at Westbrook, but I'm sure he'll think twice before showing what a dumb ignorant asshole he is next time."

It takes Aaron a second to figure out what that means. "Are you telling me you started arguing PDS rights with your possible employer?"

"Well I tried to, but he was too thick to get it. And then he started talking to me like _I_ was the stupid one, so... I might have just punched him instead," Alexander admits candidly.

Aaron's eyebrows shoot up. "You punched him," he repeats, slowly.

"I know how it sounds but he deserved it, alright? Called me a stiff. What kind of stupid slur is it anyway?" Alexander turns his nose up. "Besides, he was the one at wrong. Even ignoring all the uneducated shit he was spewing, not hiring someone just because they're PDS is against the law. One would think a practicing lawyer would know it, but alas, the world is full of disappointing surprises."

Aaron sighs, checks his watch. 7:11. This could very well take all night – this Alexander guy is talkative, to put it mildly. And he's right about one thing, he does need help. A lot of it.

Aaron inspects him for a long moment, really looking at him for the first time. Taking in his messy hair and worn-out clothes. The intelligent spark in his eyes, shining so bright that not even death could put it out. The almost childlike trust with which he's looking at Aaron right now. There's promise in him, Aaron decides. He needs to change his personality and appearance completely, but if he listens to Aaron he could get far someday.

"Why don't why talk about this over a drink?" Aaron offers. He hasn't felt the need to eat or drink since the Rising, but if he has to spend his evening lecturing Alexander on how to act properly at least he'd like to sit down. And he isn't going to bring a complete stranger into his apartment.

Alexander looks thrilled at the prospect. "That sounds great. Thank you."

Aaron's favorite bar is right around the corner. Late in the evening it's usually plagued by slackers and troublemakers, but the owner is cool and it's the only place on this side of town where they serve the kind of drinks PDS sufferers can have without throwing everything up just a few minutes later. Besides, it's close to the apartment so it spares Aaron the trouble of taking the subway to get back.

Angelica is at her usual place behind the counter. Aaron doesn't know how she does it – day in day out she's there, putting up with some of the worst patrons Aaron has ever had the displeasure of being around. She smiles at them while she pours their drinks, asks about their lives as if they were of any interest to her, laughs at their lame jokes. As if she truly enjoyed their company. It must be all fake, of course – no way such an educated, beautiful, _living_ woman is mingling with mostly-PDS losers for anything other than personal gain. Someone else would call her a hypocrite, but Aaron admires her for it. It shows a patience and a strength of character that few people possess.

"Burr!" she calls the second he approaches the bar. "Didn't expect you to join us on a Friday. But I'm glad to see you. Especially since you're bringing fresh meat with you," she adds, and turns to Alexander with a smile that doesn't promise anything good. "What's your name, handsome?"

"Alexander Hamilton," he replies. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss..."

She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Oh, please. It's just Angelica."

"Angelica," Alexander repeats, almost savoring the name.

Angelica looks him up and down, her clever eyes curious. "You new in town? And before you reply, you should know that your answer better be yes, or I'll be deeply offended that you never graced us with your presence before," she teases him.

"I've only been in town for a week or so," he informs her, "but that's no excuse. I'd have rushed here right away had I known it would lead to us meeting sooner."

Aaron rolls his eyes at the terrible line, but Angelica seems incredibly pleased. "And he's a flirt! Burr, I could seriously hug you right now," she jokes. "So what can I get you guys?"

"Do you serve whiskey?" Alexander asks, and before Angelica can reply he goes on: "And by _whiskey_ I actually mean that horrible tasteless brew they came up with specifically to make PDS sufferers feel even worse about their condition."

She grins. "Afraid so. Two whiskeys, then?"

Aaron nods, somewhat pleased that she remembered his usual. Once they have their drinks they relocate to the most private booth Aaron can find – he'd rather avoid spending the night waiting for Alexander to stop flirting with Angelica long enough to listen to him, and he's sadly aware of the fact that it won't be long before the place gets too crowded for anyone to have a proper conversation at the bar.

"Think I love this place already," Alexander says, getting a little too comfortable in his seat. "Do you come here often?"

"From time to time," Aaron replies noncommittally.

"Great. Must be fun." Then, giving a subtle nod in Angelica's direction: "So what's the deal with her?"

Aaron huffs, part amusement, part contempt. "Her full name is Angelica Schuyler, her family owns half the city and she's _way_ out of your league."

"Well that works out perfectly for me, because I love a challenge," Alexander declares, with the smug bravado of someone who doesn't get half as much action as he'd like to make everyone else believe. Then he must remember that he didn't go looking for Aaron to be introduced to the least appropriate bachelorettes in town, because he sobers up and says: "Anyway, that'll have to wait. Tell me your story. How did you get hired? How do _I_ get hired?"

Aaron takes a sip of his whiskey. He agrees with Alexander on one thing – it does taste awful. "Why don't you wear your contacts and cover-up mousse?" he wonders out loud.

Alexander makes a face. "Seriously?" he asks, and Aaron gets the feeling that he's stumbled upon a touchy subject. His suspicion is confirmed a moment later, when Alexander starts raising his voice. "Because I don't want to, isn't that enough? I hate the way they feel and I hate the way they make me look. Like I'm some sort of broken doll stitched back together all wrong. What, we don't even have the right to decide what we want to look like now? Do the living really expect me to spend eternity feeling wrong in my own body just because... what, looking at my real eyes could offend someone? Can't they be the ones to get used to _us_ for once? It's not like we..."

"Okay," Aaron cuts him off, because with the way Alexander's heating up he could probably spend the next hour ranting about the topic. "Okay, calm down. Jeez. Do you blow up like this every time someone asks you a question?"

"I do if it's a shitty, discriminatory question," Alexander counters, defiant. 

Aaron takes a deep breath, forcing himself to count to five before he says something he might regret. "Look, you asked for my advice and I'm giving it to you. I'm assuming you're ambitious, aren't you? I don't know many other PDS sufferers who are so committed to finding a good job." Most of them, in fact, do nothing all day, using post-Rising depression and the fact that they don't _really_ need a job to survive as an excuse to waste away for all eternity.

"I am," Hamilton answers with conviction. "I've already wasted my first life without accomplishing anything, no way I'm throwing away my second chance too."

Aaron nods, pleased with the reply. "Good. You have dreams, a purpose. You must know, though – you're not going anywhere if you're not willing to make some sacrifices."

Alexander looks down into his whiskey, slowly shakes his head. "I'm willing to sacrifice a lot. Not my integrity, though."

"It's just a little make-up," Aaron points out. "A fake smile here and there, biting your tongue instead of getting into a pointless fight. Not punching every fool that disrespects you. In short, learning the art of compromise. Trust me, it's not that hard and it can get you very far."

It's some good piece of advice, but Aaron isn't even sure Alexander has been listening to it. Something else caught his attention in the middle of Aaron's little speech – or rather some _one_ , Aaron realizes when he follows his gaze. Angelica's bar has always welcomed all kinds of costumers, living and PDSS alike. Lately, though, the living clientele has been visiting the place less and less. In fact, Aaron's pretty sure the three guys shouting at the table next to theirs are the first he's seen around here in almost a month.

"Can't believe how degraded this area has gotten," one of them is telling the others, loud enough that Aaron suspects he wants to be heard by as many people as possible. "What was it, last year? Yeah, just last year my sister had her goddamn _wedding_ at the chapel across the street and now just walking these streets gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"Damn right," one of his friends agrees with him. "And it's just gonna get worse. Heard they're planning to 'reintegrate' a hundred more of these things before spring. Right, 'cause I'm sure the monsters who were trying to eat us just the other day are just itchin' to _integrate_." He spits out the last word, and the other two shake their heads in an exaggerated display of resignation.

"This is insane. When's the government gonna show some balls and put them in their place? Bunch of corpses. They belong six feet under, not in our homes."

"Well your chauvinist shit belongs to 1930s Germany, but you know, _Sometimes They Come Back_."

Aaron turns to the empty seat in front of him, and then back to the three men at the nearby table. Of course. _Of course_ Alexander had to jump in. He probably should have expected it – nothing good ever comes from hanging out with strangers on a Friday night.

The living regard the newcomer with contempt. "Who the fuck are you?" one of them barks.

"Alexander Hamilton, hi," he replies without the slightest hesitation. Like he picks up fights with men twice his size every other day. He probably does, Aaron supposes. His first impression of him was right – he's a first-class troublemaker. Why didn't he follow his gut and leave him in the street? "I'm one of the corpses, in case you're already too drunk to notice. This will probably come as a shock to you, but I was just having a drink and talking to a friend and _in no way thinking about eating anyone_ when you jackasses decided to come in and ruin my night."

Aaron shrinks back against his seat. A _friend_? If Alexander thinks Aaron will be dragged down with him, he's wrong. He gave him advice and was promptly ignored; Alexander's on his own now.

Luckily, the three men are still too stunned by Alexander's unstoppable flow of words to start looking for his alleged accomplice. "Ooh, poor you, you're so oppressed by all the mean little zombies. I mean, you aren't getting kicked out by your families or spit at in the streets or denied basic rights – including, but not limited to, freedom to move, the right to trial, to adopt, and to do a job and receive a fair pay for it, but still. I get it. Sometimes when you shake someone's hand and you didn't realize they were PDS, it's cold and it catches you by surprise. Your life is hard too."

"Oh, really? And what about the fact that I work my ass off all day at my job and my taxes are wasted in treating the monsters that ate my kid?" one of the three finally asks, the one who's been relatively quiet up to this point. His voice cracks a little on the question, and Aaron can't help feeling for him.

"Actually, you don't have to pay shit," Alexander counters without the slightest hint of compassion. "You can be exempted from paying the tax just by saying that you don't want to, 'for ethical reasons'. You'd know it if you spent half as much time acculturating yourself on these matters as you do whining about them. As for your kid, I'm sorry but whoever killed him had _no control whatsoever_ about it. I'm sure if it had been their choice, they'd much rather have ripped the asshole father apart."

As Aaron expected, that is the last straw. "Come again?" the guy asks, standing up. "Was that a threat, _corpse_?"

He gets all up in Alexander's personal space, and Alexander looks even smaller in comparison. Scared, though, he doesn't look. "Nope. More like wishful thinking."

His cheekiness earns him a good shove, and he ends up on the floor, all three men crowding him now. Aaron wonders whether he should do something. There's no way he's getting involved in this directly, but he could draw Angelica's attention to what's happening. She doesn't tolerate fighting in her bar, especially if it's the living ganging up against PDS sufferers. Then again Alexander is the one who went looking for trouble, so maybe being left alone to deal with the consequences will finally teach him a lesson.

Aaron doesn't have time to make a decision – someone else steps in before he does.

" _Excuse moi_ , what have we here?" a terrible French accent Aaron is sadly all too well-acquainted with asks. For once, Aaron is almost glad to hear it. "The dark secluded corners of clubs are for lovers, not for fighters. You can take your fisticuffing elsewhere."

"Fuck off. This doesn't concern you," is the growled response.

"Actually, it does," someone else says. Right. Wherever Lafayette goes, that living kid Laurens follows. Aaron looks around for the third member of their little gang, but he seems to be missing tonight. Knowing the type, he's probably off with some girl who thinks self-respect is vastly overrated.

"Three living against one PDS?" Laurens is objecting. "Looks a lot like a hate crime to me. And we don't stand for those kinds of things here."

The man who lost his kid takes a step closer to him. Laurens is taller than Alexander, but the guy still towers over him. "Oh yeah? What you gonna do about it?"

Instead of replying, Laurens punches him. Right on the nose. Hard.

"That a language you can understand better?" he taunts when the man swears and stumbles back, hands assessing the damage to his face. 

The other two are on Laurens and Lafayette in a second. "You're dead!" one of them snarls, grabbing Laurens by his shirt and lifting him up. After that it's pure chaos. Alexander jumps back in and throws a chair at the guy who's working Laurens over. Lafayette and his aggressor end up tangled on the floor, kicking and yelling. Mulligan, the unruly giant who lives with Lafayette and Laurens, comes in from the restroom too at some point and starts throwing punches before he even figures out what's been going on in his absence. Aaron really wishes he'd sent Alexander on his way and stayed in tonight.

The one upside of such a mess is that it finally gets Angelica on the spot. "What the hell is going on here?" she exclaims, and her voice is so loud and disapproving that everyone immediately stops and looks at her, a bunch of out of control kids caught red-handed by their mother. She immediately zeroes-in on the source of most of the trouble around here. "Lafayette, we've been over this. I won't have this kind of behavior in my establishment."

Lafayette looks up at her from the floor, his long black curls even more of a mess than usual. " _Oui-oui_ , madame, you're perfectly right. That's what we were trying to do, stop these savages from beating up a defenseless PDS kid."

The guy on top of him snorts. "If he's so defenseless, he should think twice before he goes around threatening good people."

"I didn't threaten anybody!" Alexander protests. "I was just telling them what being oppressed really means, because they clearly have no idea and they were running their big stupid mouths anyway, complaining about _corpses_ taking all their money and shit like that."

Aaron shakes his head. He gives up, the kid will never learn.

"This is a prejudice-free environment, gentlemen," Angelica says, turning to the three living men. "If it bothers you so much to be around PDS sufferers, you can go to any of the _three-hundred seventy-six_  "Living Only" establishments in the city. I'm sure you'll find one to your satisfaction – unless of course you came here specifically to look for a fight tonight."

"You taking their side now? God," the guy with the bleeding nose says, and spits on the floor. "You can bet I'm never setting foot in this dump again," he announces, getting out without another word. The other two follow suit. "Good luck keeping the place on its feet with only this thieving scum's help," one tells Angelica as he's paying her for everyone's drinks.

"Thanks for stopping by, have a terrific evening!" Angelica shouts after them, her warm and caring tone intentionally fake. Then she turns to the remaining patrons, who have been witnessing the whole scene in bewilderment: "Sorry about the ruckus, guys. Some people just don't know how to behave. What do you say we get a drink and try to forget we had to see that? Next round's on me."

Everyone cheers at that. Angelica sure knows how to win over her costumers. The ones she cares about, at least.

Even Alexander raises his fist at the news, looking incredibly perky for a guy who was just beaten to a pulp by someone twice his size. "You alright, kid?" Mulligan asks him.

Alexander nods. "Yes. I think your friends got the worst of it, actually." He looks at Lafayette, still on the floor (though he did pull himself up to a sitting position), and Laurens, who's pressing a Kleenex to his split lip. "Thanks for the help, guys. I'm sorry for getting you into trouble."

"Don't mention it, those assholes were asking for it," Laurens shrugs it off.

"Yeah," Lafayette confirms, standing up. "They've been coming every Friday for the past month, complaining about people like us" – he makes a gesture to include Alexander, Mulligan and himself – "pretty much non-stop. We were just looking for an excuse to put them in their place without pissing off Angelica too much."

"And you provided it, so we should thank _you_ for your bravery," Mulligan finishes, clapping Alexander on the shoulder.

"And you missed the best part," Laurens tells him, all excited. "You should have seen him school them about PDS rights. They tried to debate him but didn't stand a chance against him, it was _glorious_."

Alexander is beaming, obviously pleased at all the compliments.

"Bold and smart, huh?" Mulligan asks. "Just how we like it. How did you stay off our radar 'til now?"

"I've just moved here last week," Alexander explains. "And honestly, this is my first night out in ages. I haven't really had much time to myself lately. But then I met Aaron Burr..." he nods in Aaron's direction, and he would probably keep talking if Lafayette didn't cut him off.

"Burr? _Mon dieu_ , you're hanging out with Burr?"

Alexander seems perplexed. "Yeah, why? Do you have a problem with him?"

All three of them laugh at that. "Of course not!" Lafayette says. "But before you let things go any further with him, you should know that he's literally the worst."

"I can hear you," Aaron points out, standing up to join them. No point trying to keep to himself now. Not that he needs to anymore, the worst should be over – he just wasn't looking forward to spending an evening with these loudmouths.

"I know," Lafayette replies, cheeky, and winks. "So how does a guy like you make friends with someone like... Alexander, right?"

Alexander gives him a nod. "That's right. Which reminds me, I still don't know your names."

"How about we make the introductions over drinks?" Mulligan suggests. "Think I heard something about a free round, and I'm all up for it."

"Good idea. We need to celebrate our great victory," Laurens decides.

"And Burr's fundamental role in it," Mulligan jokes.

"Ha ha," Aaron says, half-heartedly. He's so used to their taunting by now that he hardly notices it, let alone gets upset about it. He'd like to have that free drink, though, so he follows them in spite of himself.

"Come on, Alexander," Lafayette encourages him, putting his arm around the new guy's shoulder. "We're getting you spectacularly wasted tonight."

Alexander laughs. "I'm all for trying, but you should know I haven't been able to get drunk since I came back."

"Ah, but you're with us now," Lafayette points out, laughing too, and the five of them walk to the bar.


	2. In which Alexander has coffee and a shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to the wonderful IrreverentFangirl for going through the trouble of beta-ing this. And you know, for teaching me that punctuation is a thing that exists =X

For the first time in months, Alexander struggles to regain full consciousness in the morning. His head feels heavy and groggy, details from last night coming to him in bits and pieces – there were drinks, loads of them, and a beautiful woman, which is usually how trouble starts. But also, someone had been giving him advice about something?

Everything else seems to be too muddled for him to make sense of it. Flying chairs. Random French locutions. Singing and laughing and drinking. _So much drinking_. Affectionate arms around his shoulders. Freckles. He's pretty sure he was carried here on someone's back.

Wherever "here" is.

With some effort, he opens his eyes and forces himself to focus on his surroundings. He's lying on a tattered gray couch facing a small TV. The TV is on, showing some news program, but the volume is so low that Alexander can't catch a word of what's being said. Still, the images alone are enough to grab his attention. Looks like some PDS girl was found dead in a ditch while he was out partying last night.

He sits up, looking for a remote. His mind is finally awake and buzzing. Who was the kid? Was her second death a murder or yet another suicide? When the hell is someone going to do something about it? They keep saying it's a difficult situation and it is, but it's only going to get worse at this rate. Passing stricter laws for hate crimes about the PDS population and setting up a suicide hotline specifically for PDS, where they don't risk ending up talking with a racist piece of garbage (it seems absurd, but it actually happened to Alexander a couple times), would be a good start.

"Hey Mulligan!" A voice coming from behind him startles Alexander back to reality. "Your _overnight guest_ is awake!"

Lafayette, Alexander places the French accent. Last night is coming back to him – at least the part where he wasn't completely wasted yet. Right. It looks like for once he made friends instead of pissing people off while he was out. Or well, maybe it would be more accurate to say that he did piss people off, but at least he ended up making some friends too in the process?

Lafayette and Laurens are sitting on two tall bar stools at the kitchen island behind Alexander's couch, poring over the same laptop. Their mugs of coffee seem to have been forgotten for a while now. Mulligan is nowhere to be seen, but a pained grunt coming from the door on Alexander's left confirms that he's alive – though possibly in an even worse shape than Alexander.

"Classic Mulligan." Lafayette shakes his head in mock annoyance. "He gets all the action and then leaves us to take care of his conquests while he sleeps it off."

"Just be grateful this time he only brought home one guy," Laurens comments.

Alexander frowns. That part he doesn't remember. "Wait, I didn't... With _Mulligan_?" he asks, unsure of what to think.

Lafayette and Laurens burst into laughter in sync. It would almost be cute if Alexander didn't feel more like punching the both of them right now.

"Ha ha, I get it," he grumbles, standing up. "Let's all gang up against the new guy. Charming."

"Sorry," Laurens apologizes, struggling to regain his composure. "It's just, we didn't expect you to fall for it. We were just making fun of Mulligan 'cause he's super-straight."

"Which at this point I'd guess you're not?" Lafayette inquires, wiggling his eyebrows in a creepily suggestive way.

Alexander gives him a playful shove. "Keep dreaming."

"Come on, you can't be telling me you're not at least a little bit gay," Lafayette complains. "I bet good money on it against Mulligan."

"I'm telling you it's too early for any of that," Alexander shuts him off, and goes to find the stove. "Can I have some coffee? My head is killing me."

"Ooh, looks like someone got drunk last night after all," Lafayette sniggers, sounding very pleased with himself.

"PDS stuff is on the left," Laurens tells him, and that's all the invitation Alexander needs.

He's hardly eaten anything since he Rose. Well, that's not true. He has eaten people while he was rabid, his mind consumed by one thought and one thought only. _Feed_. And he has eaten pretty much regularly at the treatment center – officially because regular meals would help the patients feel more like normal human beings, although Alexander suspects they were experimenting PDS-friendly food on them.

Anyway, he's been out for a couple months now and save for the very occasional drink he hasn't had anything. PDS sufferers don't need food to survive; it's a luxury, and Alexander can hardly afford luxuries. Besides, PDS food usually tastes awful so it's not like he's ever been tempted to waste money on it.

Emphasis on _usually_. This particular coffee steals Alexander's soul after the first sip.

"Oh my god," he moans. "This is _amazing_. Where did you find coffee like this?"

"Sorry, it's a secret recipe," Laurens tells him, and winks.

As much as Alexander would like to just keep drinking the coffee from heaven, the information is too fascinating for him not to investigate further. "Wait, are you telling me you made it? Like, from scratch?"

"I'm afraid you're not the only child prodigy in the room, _mon ami_ ," Lafayette jokes.

Laurens shakes his head, embarrassed. "Shut up, it's no big deal. I just studied the composition of the standard approved PDS-food and made some adjustments. You know, it's all well and nice to have food PDS sufferers can eat, but I thought it would help if it's also food they'd _want_ to eat."

"You're officially my favorite person in the whole wide world," Alexander declares, dead serious. He takes another gulp of the coffee, his taste buds almost exploding with the flavor. It's been ages since he's been able to taste something, and now he is and it's _so good_. He'd hug Laurens if it didn't require having to put the mug down.

Lafayette is finding the whole scene hilarious for some reason. "Should I suggest you two get a room?" he asks, grinning from behind his own cup of coffee.

"I already have a room," Laurens replies, distractedly. He went back to looking at the laptop, occasionally typing something into it, although Alexander is almost sure his freckled cheeks are a little flushed.

"I was referring to Hammie and his coffee, actually," Lafayette says, and laughs.

Alexander shakes his head, but doesn't even try to argue with him. He's more interested in something else right now. "What are you writing?" he asks Laurens, taking a seat on the chair in front of him.

"We" Lafayette emphasizes, "are writing an article for our Uni's magazine. Tentative title: _What Comes Next? – PDS Sufferers' Prospects After Reintegration_."

"Spoiler alert: they're not good," Laurens sighs, and he looks so defeated that Alexander feels bad for him. Even though, of course, it makes no sense. Laurens is a living – the PDS situation doesn't really concern or affect him in any way. It shouldn't, at least. But maybe that's why it means so much to Alexander that it does. He's only known the guy for a few hours and already he has seen him beat up a big scary dude for being a racist asshole, come up with actual palatable PDS food, and get all sad and sympathetic about PDS rights. It might have been a hyperbole to call him Alexander's favorite person ever, but if he keeps going like this he has very good chances of actually becoming it.

Alexander is about to start grilling him about his life story when Mulligan makes his entrance. He has a blanket around his shoulders, which strikes Alexander as odd since PDS sufferers aren't affected by external or internal temperature, and he looks just miserable.

"You losers better be nice and coddle me good today, 'cause I feel like shit and it's all your fault," he announces, making a beeline for the stove and pouring himself a king-sized cup of coffee.

"Our fault?" Lafayette repeats, unable to stop himself from poking fun at his friend. "It wasn't me who decided last night was the night you broke the frat boy record for the highest number of shots downed in one go."

Mulligan groans. "Laf, man, I love you and all but I swear, I cannot put up with the sound of your voice right now."

Alexander and Laurens can't help chuckling. Lafayette raises an eyebrow. "Rude, but okay. You know, for a man so proud of his Irish heritage you sure are bad at hangovers."

Mulligan flips him off.

Everyone gets relatively quiet after that – Laurens and Lafayette focusing on their article, mumbling to each other from time to time, while Mulligan suffers in silence except for the occasional pained noise. Alexander can't help the feeling of uneasiness that starts spreading in his chest. He had fun last night, a lot, and it was nice of these guys to let him crash at their place, but he isn't fooling himself – he's still the undead kid who sleeps in the subway and can't get a job to save his life, and ultimately, that's the life he's going back to. As much as he'd like to, he doesn't belong here.

He checks the time on the TV. 11:24. Too late for him to go job hunting, which is probably for the best because he's in no shape to do that. If he hurries, though, he can make it to the gym in time for Sheila's shift. She's the only janitor on duty at lunchtime on Saturdays, and she's a decent enough human being that she lets Alexander shower there even though he can't afford a membership card.

He makes a move to stand up. "I should get going," he tells the others. "Thank you so much for everything. I'm going to pay you back, I promise."

Both Lafayette and Laurens look up from the laptop, frowning, but it's Mulligan who talks first: "Don't be an idiot, you don't owe us shit. You're one of us now."

The words make Alexander feel a little too good. He's never been welcomed like this – never felt like he was really part of a group.

"Besides," Lafayette chimes in, "you still haven't confessed what you were doing all alone in the dark with the likes of Aaron Burr. No way we're letting you go before you spill."

As much as Alexander would like to nip these kinds of assumptions right in the bud, time is ticking. "Sorry, that's a story for another day. I really have to head home."

Laurens exchanges a quick glance with Lafayette before closing the laptop. "Do you mind if I walk with you for a bit? We're getting stuck with our story and I could use some fresh air to clear my head" he offers as an excuse.

It may very well be true. Sounds plausible enough, after all. Still. There's something off about the way the others are acting, especially Laurens and Lafayette, and Alexander can't help suspecting that the apparently innocent question is hiding some ulterior motive.

"What's going on?" he asks, warily looking from Laurens to Lafayette. He has just met these guys and he already loves them and he could be ruining everything on a hunch. He doesn't care. If something sketchy is going on, he needs to know.

Laurens looks confused. "Nothing," he replies, a little too quickly. "I just want to take a walk and I thought we could go together, but if you'd rather..."

"Come on, drop the act," Lafayette cuts it short. "We're not fooling him."

So something's really up. Alexander was right, as usual.

For once, he wishes he wasn't. "Fooling me about what?" he inquires.

"We know you don't have a place to stay," Lafayette tells him, and it isn't an accusation but it still makes Alexander feel like he's been backed into a corner. 

"What are you talking about, of course I do," he protests, sounding defensive to his own ears.

"When we asked you if we should drop you off somewhere last night you said the first bench we found would be fine," Laurens retorts. Then he adds, in a lower voice, "And your backpack is full of clothes."

"You went through my stuff?!" Alexander explodes, more to deflect attention from the bigger issue than out of real indignation. Although he'd have every right to be indignant, he believes. Who do these guys think they are, getting him drunk and then rummaging through his very private things?

Laurens actually looks hurt at the accusation. "Of course not! You and Mulligan decided to start throwing it at each other after the twentieth shot and I helped you put everything back since you were in no shape to do it on your own."

Okay, something like that definitely happened. Now that he thinks about it, Alexander can remember pretty clearly tossing the backpack to Mulligan after he made some drunken lewd remark, probably about Alexander's sister or mother or something, and he can see how it might have escalated from there. Alexander doesn't get drunk that easy, but when he does, it's _bad_.

Mulligan chuckles at the memory. "That's true. I totally kicked your ass."

"You also tried to make out with half the bar," Lafayette feels the need to remind him for some reason, "but that's beside the point."

"Yeah, what _is_ the point?" Alexander asks, finally feeling himself getting angry for real. "I'm homeless. Good for you, you busted me. Thank you for taking pity on the poor wayward orphan and giving him a place to sleep for one night. So what, am I in your perpetual debt now? Or do you want me to repay you with something else than money?" He shudders at the thought. "God, Lafayette, is that why you keep insinuating that I'm gay? You want to know how much I'm going to enjoy paying you back?"

Lafayette recoils at the accusation, as if Alexander just slapped him. It was a horrible thing to say, Alexander knows it, and he regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. It's not like he said that just to hurt the others, though. He has no idea what they want from him and they're three against one and he's been in enough bad situations that he's really fucking scared right now. So much so that he's running his mouth and freaking out at Lafayette, apparently.

"Dude, the fuck is wrong with you?" Mulligan asks, the first to overcome the shock. "We were just trying to help you out."

"But why?" Alexander asks, really struggling to understand. In his experience, people don't go around helping strangers and getting involved in their lives without expecting anything in return – be it money, recognition or simply gratitude. It just doesn't happen.

"Because we like you?" Laurens suggests. He sounds tired, like at this point he's trying to win the argument more on principle than anything. And bitter – he didn't take Alexander's little outburst well. "Not in that way, don't worry. Your hitting on everyone doesn't automatically mean everyone's attracted to you back. But we had a lot of fun with you last night and we have a vacant bed, so we thought you could use it."

So they need someone to help pay rent. This, at least, makes sense. Not that it changes anything – their secretiveness and Alexander's poor reaction to it have already ruined every chance of the four of them making it work. And even if they hadn't, Alexander's answer would have been the same. "I can't afford it."

Laurens shakes his head. "You don't have to. The guy who used to be there, he paid for the whole next year in advance before leaving."

And... now it's back to not making any sense. "Why would he do that?" Alexander asks, furrowing his brow.

"Because he probably didn't expect to die one week ago," is Laurens' dry answer.

This is a mess. What did Alexander expect, though? He's met countless people in his 26-odd years on earth, has even made a couple of friends here and there, and none of them ever stuck around for more than a few months. It's no news that he's terrible with people, so why should it come as a surprise that in one fell swoop he managed to piss off three guys he actually really liked and blow up the first real chance at finding a place to stay he's had since he got here?

"I'm sorry about your friend," he says. He needs to leave before he starts begging for forgiveness, he knows he could never get over the humiliation. "And about everything else too, really. I haven't met many good people before and I have a tendency to talk too much – especially when I'm feeling cornered. I'll see myself out," he adds quickly, before they think he's only apologizing because he wants to stay. After what happened, that's the last thing he wants.

He turns his back to them, starts looking for his backpack so he can get his stuff and leave and forget everything about this terrible morning, when Lafayette breaks his silence. "You know, the offer still stands if you're interested."

Alexander freezes in his place. "Really? After what I said?" he asks, almost afraid to look back at the others.

When he does, Lafayette shrugs. "So you have a hard time accepting favors from strangers, and you don't like people asking you about your sexual preferences. You might have let us know more delicately, but at least I know what buttons not to push now."

It takes all of Alexander's self-restraint not to throw his arms around Lafayette and thank him for being so awesome. "Thanks," he just says. "You know, for the offer and your forgiveness and for being so awesome." Okay, so his self-restraint needs some work. Tell him something new.

At least Lafayette looks pleased. "Is that a yes?" he asks, and he's smiling again.

"Of course. I couldn't ask for a better place to stay." He looks them all in the eye, promises, "You won't regret this, I swear."

They all hug then – the others hesitant at first, only daring to squeeze him a little harder when they realize he isn't going to feel trapped and freak out. That's what he gets for being paranoid, he guesses. He'd get annoyed at his friends for treating him like he's made of glass but he's pretty sure there's a limit to the slack they'll be willing to cut him in a single morning, so he just passive-aggressively hugs them extra-tight instead.

It works, sort of. "Welcome to the family," Mulligan says, giving his back a vigorous pat.

"Will you be okay rooming with Laurens?" Lafayette asks when they're done. "The spare bed's in his room."

"Sure, whatever works for you guys," Alexander immediately accepts, eager to show them how amenable he can be. He just hopes he doesn't regret it. Laurens has been pretty quiet since Alexander gave him the third degree and for all Alexander knows, he could still be pissed at him. He probably is, he decides when he meets his eyes and finds nothing but polite detachment in them.

"Come on, I'll show you where to put your stuff," Laurens offers, standing up and heading for the room on the right.

Alexander finds his backpack next to the couch where he spent the night and hurries after him.

The room isn't big at all (just enough to fit two beds, each of them with a chest for clothes at their feet, a small desk and a single chair) but it's still the nicest Alexander has ever had. For one thing, it's perfectly clean and orderly, save for the half dozen medical texts thrown on one of the beds. A large window provides a view of the streets below and lets the light flow inside, setting the room apart from the dark, damp underground holes Alexander has had to settle for at certain times in his life. But it's not as cold and aseptic as his cubicle back at the treatment center either. The bed covers are matched but colorful, and the walls are decked with posters. No, not posters, Alexander realizes – drawings. Just black ink on paper and the same careful, talented hand for all of them. The subjects are the most disparate, and Alexander's attention is caught by the weirdest one, what looks like a giant turtle with four elephants on its back.

"Bed on the right's yours," Laurens explains. "Obviously. And so is the chest next to it. I know the desk is kinda small but you can have it all for yourself, so it should do."

"Are you sure?" Alexander asks. This place already exceeds his most optimistic expectations, he doesn't need Laurens to give up his own space for him.

Laurens shrugs, though. "Sure. I don't use it anyway, I usually study on my bed – as you can probably gather from the mess."

Alexander looks at him in surprise. "Really? How do you not fall asleep on your books all the time?"

"Who says I don't?" Laurens shoots back, smiling at him for the first time since the incident with Lafayette.

Alexander starts breathing more easily. Laurens is about the last person he wants to quarrel with – both because they're supposed to live in such close quarters and because he has given Alexander no reason to fight him. If he's offering olive branches, you can bet Alexander will rush to accept them.

"Touché," Alexander concedes, smiling back. He nods toward the text books, asks: "So, med school?"

"Yeah," Laurens confirms, moving the books to the end of the bed to make a little room for himself to sit down on it. "Third year. And you're a lawyer, right? Like Burr?"

He utters the name like an insult, and Alexander wonders what's the deal with Burr and his new friends. They were pleasant enough to each other the previous night, at least from what he can remember, but Laurens' tone just now and Lafayette's comment about Burr being the worst make him suspect that there's more to the relationship. He'll try and find out once he's sure he and Laurens are good, he decides.

For now, he just nods in affirmation. Then corrects himself: "Well, on paper at least. I died before I even got the results of my Bar exam, and law firms aren't exactly tripping over each other in their rush to hire me now."

Laurens shakes his head in disgust. "Racist jerks. I swear I'd..." He stops then, furrows his brow, an idea coming to him. "You know what, you should talk to Lafayette. His Civil Law professor is co-owner of a firm and he and Laf are having some kind of emotional affair, maybe he could help you out."

"Really? Thanks, I'll definitely give it a try," Alexander decides. It does sound a little too good to be true, but most of what's happened in the last sixteen or so hours does so he thinks he can be cautiously optimistic.

Laurens gets quiet after that, and Alexander takes it as his cue to start unpacking. It's not going to be a long operation by any means – all he owns are some clothes, a third-hand smartphone, his medication, a worn-out wallet with his documents and a single 10$ bill in it, a notebook he hasn't completely filled with scribbling yet but only because his pen ran out before he could, a pen that has run out, and an old photo of his mother. He holds this last item a little longer than the others, lets his fingers brush his mother's face, trying for the thousandth time to smooth out the crumpled surface of the picture.

 _I'll make you proud, Mom, I promise_ , Alexander thinks, not for the first time. He isn't religious by any means, but how can he downright refute the idea of an hereafter when it means that there's a chance his mother has still been watching his back these last fourteen years?

He sets the picture on the desk, tells himself that he'll get a frame for it as soon as he starts making some money. When he turns, Laurens is staring at him, a curious expression on his face.

"What?" Alexander asks.

Laurens immediately averts his eyes. "Nothing, sorry."

There it is again, that tension between the two of them that wasn't there this morning. Or last night, when they were still total strangers, for that matter. And look, Alexander knows he's the one who started it but he has apologized, hasn't he? Lafayette and Mulligan seem to have gotten over it, why can't Laurens do the same?

The worst part is, it looks like Laurens has decided to be passive-aggressive about it and that doesn't work for Alexander. At all. He much prefers the aggressive-aggressive approach, with the yelling and insults and flying dishes, because at least it makes way for change. People who hold grudges for ages instead of talking things out and looking for solutions drive him crazy, and never in a million years would he have thought Laurens would turn out to be one of them. Today seems to be the day of completely off assumptions, though.

So, aggressive approach it is. Alexander opens his mouth to tear his uncooperative roommate a new one, politeness and gratitude be damned... and finds that he can't. No matter how annoying Laurens is being, he doesn't want to yell at him.

"I'm sorry," he says instead, sitting on the bed Laurens assigned to him earlier. His bed.

Laurens frowns. "About what?"

Alexander makes a vague gesture. "You know, for what happened before. I shouldn't have said those things, I knew they made no sense, but I couldn't believe you'd decided to help me out of the blue and there was three of you and only one of me and I...."

"Wait wait wait, stop it," Laurens interrupts what's turning into rambling. "I get it. You've already apologized more than enough."

"Why are you still being so weird, then?" Alexander blurts out, really confused now.

"I'm not being weird" Laurens denies. When Alexander's questioning stare doesn't falter he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, I guess I am a little. I'm sorry. It's just... it's been eight days since my old roommate disappeared, three since we found out he'd been dead the whole time. So you know, it's great that you're here but it's also going to take me a while to come to terms with everything that's happened."

Alexander nods. He feels a little bad for bringing all this up, but at the same time it's a relief to know he's not the problem here. That he and Laurens are okay.

"What happened to him?" he asks softly. He hadn't noticed how close his bed is to Laurens' before. If either of them stretched out their legs, they could easily rest their feet on the other's bed. And neither of them is even that tall.

"That's what I'd like to know," Laurens says, bitter. "Too bad the police doesn't give a shit. He was PDS and they found Blue Oblivion on him, so they just decided he was a hopeless junkie at best and a terrorist at worst. That investigating his death would be a waste of time and resources."

Alexander grimaces. "Shit, I'm so sorry. It happened back in my hometown too a couple months ago – and I know what the cops are like there, I'm ready to bet that they planted the drugs on the body to save themselves the trouble of running a serious investigation." He will never forget the victim's mother's face when the police refused to look into the death threats her daughter had received. Her face when she was told that her girl was probably a dangerous criminal, and she should be grateful someone took her out before she had the chance to do any real damage.

"It wouldn't surprise me if the same thing had happened here too," Laurens observes. "Gal was too much of a choir boy to eat sheep brains, I doubt he'd have come within twenty feet of illegal drugs. And he wasn't even that into PDS rights. I'd sooner imagine Burr getting involved with terrorist groups than him."

Alexander huffs in amusement, because that's kind of a funny picture in spite of it all. Then he asks, "Gal?"

"Phocion Galanis," Laurens elaborates. "My roommate." There's something almost solemn, final, in the way he says it. He seems to shake himself then, adds: "By the way, if someone from administration comes check you tell them that's your name. We might be in trouble otherwise."

"Your roommate was Greek?" Alexander asks, even though the exotic name speaks for itself.

"Born and bred in Chicago, but yeah," Laurens confirms. "Is that a problem?"

"No, it's just...." Alexander smiles. "It kinda sounds like the set up to a bad joke. A Frenchman, an Irish, a Greek and a Southerner walk into a bar..."

"Mulligan is hardly Irish, only his great-great-great something was," Laurens objects, but there's the hint of a smile on his face too. "And how do you even know I'm from the South?"

"Oh, I have no idea, how could I possibly know?" Alexander pretends to wonder, exaggerating the drawl of his vowels.

Laurens bursts into laughter. "Shut up, I don't sound anything like that!"

"I'm sorry, what?" Alexander teases him, still doing the accent. "You don't sound anything like this? _Really_?"

"Okay, you're gonna put an end to this right now or you're gonna regret it," Laurens threatens, though he'd probably be more menacing if he weren't grinning from ear to ear.

"I don't think I _can_ stop. I've been around you too long, your hick accent must have rubbed off on m..."

He doesn't get to finish the phrase because Laurens tackles him, sending him lying flat on the bed and holding him down.

"Apologize right now," Laurens says in a hiss, his face only a few inches from Alexander's.

Alexander reverts to his natural accent, but doesn't cave. "Can't, I'm sorry. I never apologize for telling the truth."

"You were _not_ telling the truth," Laurens argues, "and you're not leaving this room until you apologize, so."

Alexander shakes his head. No way he's letting Laurens win this. "If it's any consolation, it's kinda sexy," he offers instead. He hopes Laurens doesn't take it the wrong way – he and Lafayette looked more than happy to engage in this kind of banter earlier, but then they made a couple of bad comments about Alexander's alleged out of control flirting so he isn't sure where they all stand now.

He never finds out, because Laurens' watch chooses that moment to start bleeping.

"Damn," Laurens grumbles, turning it off, and Alexander has to stop himself from laughing in his face because yeah, his new roommate definitely has an accent. He's just pretty good at hiding it for the most part. "We're not done here," Laurens warns, but he finally lets Alexander go.

"What's up?" Alexander inquires.

"Shot time," Laurens replies, opening the cabinet hanging above his bed. Then, in a louder voice: "Shot time, guys! You better get ready!"

Alexander watches him grab two medication cartridges and easily insert the first one into a syringe gun. Shot time. Of course. "You're giving Lafayette and Mulligan their medication," Alexander says slowly, not really a question but sounding a little like one.

"It's not like anyone else is around to do it," Laurens comments, another cutting remark at how badly the whole PDS situation is being handled by those in charge. He stops on his way out of the room. "What time are you taking yours, by the way?" he asks.

"Evening," Alexander answers, shrugging. "Plenty of time to go. And I'm used to taking it on my own, so don't worry about it."

Laurens looks at him like he's trying to decide if Alexander is messing with him. "On your own, really? Even with the flashbacks?"

Alexander opens his mouth to tell him it isn't that big a deal, but he's cut off by Lafayette's voice coming in a whine from the living room: "Johnny dear, hurry! I can feel myself starting to crave your bright delicious brain already!"

"And I'm doing my best to hold back the urge to fight Laf over it, but I don't know how much longer I can resist," Mulligan echoes. "Brains are Sooo. Fucking. _Tasty_!"

Alexander chuckles. "You better go before we find ourselves with a crisis on our hands," he exhorts, nodding in the direction of the living room where apparently his friends are about to turn rabid. "Can I take a shower while you take care of that?" he adds at the last second, wanting to be polite.

"Sure. Bathroom's shared between the whole floor though, you have to get out of the apartment and take a turn to the left, and then the creepy little door still to the left," Laurens explains before walking out of the room, medication in hand.

Alexander opens the chest at the foot of his bed to get a change of clothes and notices a towel inside it. He wonders briefly whether he's allowed to use it – he guesses he is, since Laurens has his own chest for his stuff – and whether he _wants_ to use it, because if it doesn't belong to Laurens it can only be Gal's. Is he really going to steal from a PDS guy that was probably murdered? Then again, he's already sleeping in his bed and drinking with his friends. It would be kinda hypocritical to start feeling remorseful about a towel now.

Trying not to feel too bad about how much he's profiting from someone else's tragedy, he gathers everything he needs and heads out. He crosses the living room on his way out and sees Lafayette on the couch, rubbing his temples and whimpering softly, and Laurens holding down a convulsing Mulligan. It has to be all about technique, because Mulligan could probably break every bone in Laurens' body with just his little finger, yet Laurens is managing him somehow. Alexander is about to ask him if he needs help when he realizes – Laurens has been doing this once a day for a while now. He's got this. So Alexander lets him handle it and goes looking for the bathroom instead.

He's never been too fond of shared bathrooms. They're not safe, he feels vulnerable in them – even more than in bed, because whenever someone has been after him he's always found it easier to smuggle a knife under his pillow than the shower. He can't say he's surprised, though. His friends didn't outright tell him, but they probably aren't that better off than him. He doubts four students, three of which PDS, could afford more than public housing these days. And public housing in mostly-PDS areas doesn't provide a bathroom in every apartment because, the experts say, PDS sufferers aren't supposed to need it as much as the living – which is debatable to say the least.

Following Laurens' instructions, Alexander finds the bathroom in no time. His friend was right, the door definitely doesn't promise anything good. That's not the reason Alexander stops in his tracks in front of it, though.

"Burr?" he asks, surprised.

The young man coming down the stairs stops and looks at Alexander and it's Burr alright, his suit spotless and eyes dark with contacts. "Alexander!" he exclaims, sounding pleased to see him. "Don't tell me you've been sleeping off the hangover until now."

"Please, I've been up for... like an hour?" Alexander says, getting an amused chuckle out of Burr. "What are you doing around here?"

Burr looks at him weird. "Uh, I live here? You should know, you were camped in front of the building for God knows how long just to talk to me yesterday."

"You live here," Alexander repeats, slowly. He can't believe he didn't notice this was the same place. It kinda makes sense because he only saw the entrance yesterday and he spent this morning inside, but still. He feels like he should have just _known_ somehow.

"Well, in one of the much nicer apartments upstairs," Burr amends, and he can't keep a little pride from his voice, "but yeah. How much did you have to drink last night?"

"Ugh, too much," Alexander admits. Then: "So is that how you know Lafayette and the others? You're neighbors?"

"Alas, poor me," Burr says, and laughs. Alexander couldn't say whether he really means it. He doesn't get to ask anything else, anyway, because Burr checks his watch and excuses himself. "I'm sorry, I really have to go or I'll be late to a meeting. Good to see you, Alexander!"

"You too!" Alexander calls after him, mere seconds before Burr disappears down the stairs.

So Burr lives here too. _In the much nicer upstairs_ , he said, whatever that's supposed to mean. Good for him. Alexander is about to take a long relaxing shower without having to worry about jocks walking in on him and getting nice janitors fired, and he wouldn't trade that for a villa in Europe.


	3. In which Alexander faces the Washington Fan Club

_... I should and I should not go_

_I can and cannot call_

_Though I guess that doing nothing_

_Is doing something after all_

_But I could still leave_

_I could still leave..._

Only when the singer's dreamlike voice fades away does Alexander realize he's let the song distract him from his work. Again. This is getting problematic – he's always been able to focus through anything, and he really means _anything_. If some folky background tune is all it takes to throw him off his game, he must be doing worse than he thought.

He puts his phone on lock and closes his eyes, trying to shut out his surroundings and just relax, a task made somewhat easier by the fact that while Angelica's bar, the Archive, is always overcrowded in the evening, there's hardly ever anyone around during the day – a silent reminder to Alexander that no matter how bad things are for the other PDS residents, at least they have jobs. Temporary, low-income and with no career prospects whatsoever, but jobs nonetheless. It's more than Alexander can say for himself.

Of course, he guesses he could find something if he looked in the right place. Some companies are bending over backwards to hire PDS workers because they can pay them less and give them longer work days. It only applies to certain professions, though, and to no one's surprise lawyer isn't one of them.

Alexander sighs. He promised himself he wasn't going to settle for anything, but his resolve is starting to crumble. He's already contacted every single firm in the city and each and every one of them has turned him down – usually right after finding out he's PDS. So it's not like he has much of a choice. He's meeting Lafayette's professor later today, and if even that doesn't lead to anything he's going to have to start looking for another kind of job. The one thing he hates more than compromising is depending on others, and he already owes his friends more than he's comfortable with.

"Bad day?" Angelica asks, looking up from the glass she's wiping clean. Alexander has been spending a lot of time with her because the Archive is the only place with decent (and most importantly, free) Wi-Fi within a two-mile radius, and she more than confirmed his first great impression of her – not only is she extra smart, tough and probably the sexiest woman in all of New York, she's been a good friend to Alexander too.

He snorts. "I've had much worse," he says, and it's true.

"Okay, I guess," Angelica concedes. She pours a cup of coffee, hands it to him. "Still, you look like you could use a pick-me-up."

Alexander accepts it with a smile, trying not to think of his shrinking finances. He finally got paid for an article he wrote back in October, but even with that he won't be able to afford a daily coffee for much longer. And with year's end drawing closer, he needs to find a way to pay for common charges.

Still. Angelica lets him stay and take advantage of her Internet all day every day, buying a couple beverages from her is the least Alexander can do. Besides, she uses Laurens' recipe so Alexander is pretty sure he couldn't say no to the coffee if he tried.

"So what's got that pretty face of yours all frowny?" Angelica investigates, leaning on the counter.

"Oh, you know, the usual – oppression, the lack of prospects, and most of all my utter and complete disgust in the human race." He feels his voice starting to turn bitter and he stops himself. He doesn't want to be that patron that sits at the counter and complains all day about their ex wife and the youths today and the government and _them bad Russians_ , Angelica deserves better than that. "So yeah, nothing new on the Hamilton front," he dismisses the topic. "How about you? Anything special going on?"

Angelica thinks about it for a second and then her whole face lights up. "My sister is coming home for Christmas."

"Wait, the one I met? Isn't she here already?" Alexander asks, trying to remember the name of the pretty high school sophomore he was introduced to a few nights ago. He's usually great with names and faces, but when Alexander met the girl Laurens and Mulligan were both wasted and trying to get him to join their drunken Call Me Maybe routine so he was a little distracted. Now that he thinks about it, he must have made a terrible first impression. He needs more socially acceptable friends, he decides at the same time as he feels a grin spreading on his face at the memory.

"No, you met Peggy," Angelica explains, amused at his confusion. "Eliza is only one year younger than me. She's been living upstate with our parents for the last couple years and this is the first time she's coming to see us and not the other way round."

Alexander can't miss the affection and longing in her voice. "You miss her," he says, though there's no need to point it out.

"Yeah I do!" Angelica exclaims, almost daring him – anyone, really – to make fun of her for it. Alexander wouldn't dream of trying. "We used to see each other every day, and then all of a sudden it's just phone calls and emails whenever we can. I can't wait to see her."

She looks so excited, and Alexander wonders what it must be like – having someone you've known forever and can rely on for anything. Whose company you never tire of. He's never had anything like that, never will, he realizes, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy that hits him at the thought.

"You're going to introduce us, right?" he asks instead. "Or have I lost every chance of ever meeting another member of your family after what happened with Peggy?"

Angelica laughs, bright and sudden. Alexander loves the way laughter always seems to escape her in a single loud burst. "That was pretty terrible," she agrees after she's recomposed herself. "But trust me, my sisters aren't easily scandalized. And even if they were it was mostly your friends who acted like 12-year-olds on their first night out, not you, so I wouldn't hold it against you."

"So they're _my_ friends now?" Alexander jokes. "You've known them much longer."

"But who's living with them? Huh?" Angelica counters.

Alexander smirks. "Does it mean I get to keep them if you and I have a divorce?"

"Oh, you can keep 'em alright," Angelica plays along. "It's only fair since I'd be keeping the Wi-Fi."

"You wouldn't do that to me!" Alexander complains, forgetting for a moment that the discussion is nothing more than their usual playful flirting.

Angelica's smug expression somehow manages to be adorable and extremely irritating at the same time. "Sweetheart, I can't believe after so many years of marriage you still haven't figured out that there's nothing I wouldn't do to torment you."

"Well I'm glad you still feel so strongly about me," Alexander shoots back.

They could keep going for hours. They have, on occasion. Alexander has never met anyone quite like Angelica before – someone as smart and quick-witted as he is, perfectly capable of keeping up with him in an argument, be it about their completely fictitious marriage and consequent divorce or everything that's wrong with the way UN are trying to handle the Syrian situation. No matter the subject of the discussion, he and Angelica always seem to fall into a perfectly synchronized rhythm and it's exhilarating.

They don't get to do that today, though, because they're interrupted by Lafayette.

" _Quelle chance_!" he exclaims as he steps into the bar. "Two of my absolute favorite people together. May I join you?"

"Sure," Alexander invites him. "You should know though, we're discussing the terms of our divorce. Things could get ugly."

"Oh, no! _Que non_!" Lafayette protests. "You two haven't even hooked up yet, why are you talking divorce already?"

Angelica shrugs. "You know our Alexander. He's a fatalist." Then, with a smirk: "Just one of the million reasons why I'm divorcing him."

"Not if I divorce you first."

"Okay!" Lafayette steps in. "That's enough. You can resume your _frankly sickening_ courtship later, Hams and I need to talk business now."

Angelica quirks an eyebrow. "Business? You two?" she asks, skeptical.

Alexander knows it's all in good fun, but her words still sting a little. He's always worked as hard as he can, Angelica can't fault him the rut he's been stuck into since the Rising. He feels irritation start to bubble up inside him, and he'd probably betray his displeasure if Lafayette didn't speak before him: "Precisely. Speaking of which, how about you get to work and make me one of your well-renowed lattes?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Angelica says, and turns her back to the two of them to comply with his request.

"Is this about Washington?" Alexander inquires. Lafayette's professor is his last chance to get the kind of job he studied for, the kind of job he _wants_ to do, so he really really hopes his friend isn't coming to him with more bad news.

Lafayette nods. "I told you I'd introduce the two of you today at noon, right? I was thinking about a slight change of plans."

Alexander is officially worried. "Don't tell me he won't even meet me!" he exclaims, and he doesn't know whether he's getting angry or imploring him.

"Oh, no no no," Lafayette rushes to reassure him. "Nothing like that. I was just wondering if you'd like to come hear him speak too, he'll be at a panel in half an hour. Thanks, you're an angel," he says to Angelica, who just produced his latte.

"Ugh, don't give me that," she grimaces at the term of endearment. "You want to make me feel special, start inviting _me_ to Washington's conferences."

"You know him?" Alexander asks.

She nods an affirmation. "Well, so to speak. I read both of his books and I always try to go listen to him when I have the chance. He could be more outspoken about some issues, but most of his ideas are really fascinating."

"He's nothing short of a genius," Lafayette asserts, with such conviction that Alexander has to hide a knowing smile. It looks like there was some truth to what Laurens said about Lafayette and his professor being close. "No matter how the meeting goes, you won't regret attending one of his panels. He'll blow you straight out of the water."

"Okay," Alexander accepts. He's never heard Lafayette speak so passionately about someone, and now he's curious to find out if the guy will live up to the hype. Besides, it's clear that he's just wasting away his day here and he'd much rather spend time with his friend. "Okay, I'll be glad to come. What's the panel about?"

"It's a debate, actually," Lafayette clarifies. "They're discussing the necessity to ratify new laws in our new world."

"You know what, you're going to go and then come straight here and tell me exactly how things went down there," Angelica decides.

Alexander gives her a rueful smile, feeling a little bad for her. "Why don't you close for a couple hours and join us? It's not like anyone is going to show up before lunch hour anyway."

She purses her lips, thinking about it, but she eventually shakes her head. "Tempting, but I can't abandon the ship. You guys have fun for me too, okay?"

"We'll do our best," Alexander promises, resisting the urge to pressure her further.

Lafayette downs the rest of his latte in one go. " _On y va_?" he invites, standing up and dropping a few bucks on the counter – enough to pay for both their orders, Alexander realizes.

"Wait, I can pay for my own coffee," Alexander protests, because it's true. He'd do without the coffee, the Internet, even Angelica's company if the only way to afford them was for him to become someone's charity case. All the more so if that someone is Lafayette, who's already done way too much for him in spite of having his own problems to worry about.

Lafayette, of course, won't have it. "It's fine. You can pay for lunch," he tells him. Which is total bullshit, because they hardly ever have lunch, and when they do it's all stuff Laurens cooks and refuses to get paid for.

"Funny," Alexander says, trying to stick his own money in one of his friend's pockets.

"I'm not joking," Lafayette insists, dodging him. "Washington is a living, we're going to have to have lunch with him. And you'll make a good impression if you pay for it."

Alexander sighs, but he finally puts his money back into his worn little wallet. The prospect of having to pay lunch for three, two of which won't even need or enjoy it, isn't exactly thrilling. Then again, if things go well at lunch he won't have to worry about money for a while so he guesses he shouldn't complain. Not yet, at least.

They're lucky the conference is being held at a library that's relatively close to Angelica's – PDS sufferers like Alexander and Lafayette, who refuse to wear their make-up and contacts and to do anything that good little soldiers are supposed to do in general, have been banned from public transportation after the recent increase in terrorist attacks from an extreme PDS rights group, the Undead Liberation Army. Parallel "PDS Only" subway and bus lines have been promised, but for the time being Alexander has resigned himself to go everywhere he needs on foot.

Putting aside the unfairness of it all, anyway, he can't really say he minds. The few times he's had to walk a long way to get to his destination (usually one of those awful chauvinist law firms he's applied for) and back, he's found that walking the streets helps him calm down and think – something he doesn't get a chance to do as often as he'd probably need.

He doesn't get to relax this time, what with the short distance they're going and Lafayette talking non-stop about Washington. It's okay though. If he has to work for the guy, Alexander wants to find out as much as he can about him, especially since as of late he's been having way too many bad surprises in regard to his possible employers.

Case in point. Lafayette is telling him how during the Rising Washington left his comfortable job in the city and moved back to his hometown in Virginia to protect his people, and Alexander cannot ignore the implications of that particular piece of information.

"Wait, so he fought in the Undead War?" he interrupts his friend, frowning. He didn't expect Lafayette to be so enthusiastic about someone who killed god knows how many people like them without a second thought in the war.

"He did," Lafayette admits reluctantly. "It's not like they had much of a choice, though. It was kill or be killed – just like it was for us."

"Yeah, exactly. Except they're getting medals for it while we're called monsters and stripped of our rights," Alexander points out, bitter.

Lafayette stops walking, sighs. "Look, I know. _T'as raison_. But Washington isn't like that, okay? He stopped killing PDS sufferers and did his best to capture them instead as soon as they started researching for a cure. He remembers the name of every single person he's had to kill. He's even agreed to give a speech at our protest, if we actually get it going. He's basically one of us."

Alexander looks at him for a long moment, wanting to argue with him, to pick a fight. He doesn't even know why. His friend is right, if they start holding people accountable for what they did in those terrible years when the dead woke from their rest and started roaming the earth, they won't be better than the jackasses who think it's okay to treat them like dirt because of the lives they've taken when they had no control over it.

So Alexander takes a deep breath and says: "Okay. If you say so, that's good enough for me."

Lafayette grins. "Thank you. Your blind faith in me is touching."

They keep walking, and reach the library just a few minutes later. The lady at the entrance eyes their pale skin and even paler eyes suspiciously and a security guard gives each of them a pat down (something he doesn't do to the living teenage girl who comes in right after them, Alexander notices), but it's nothing they aren't used to. And anyway, Alexander is too busy being nervous about his upcoming meeting with Washington to be upset about people being goddamn awful.

The panel is supposed to begin in fifteen minutes but the conference room is already crawling with attendees, pushing through the sea of people to try and get to the best seats left or excitedly discussing the panelists. Alexander overhears more than one enthusiastic comment about Washington. The guy seems to be a big shot, and Alexander starts feeling a little like an outsider because he'd never heard of him before Lafayette promised to introduce the two of them. Which is pretty weird since Washington seems to be quite involved in the current discussion about PDS rights and Alexander has made a point to always be up to date with matters that concern him so directly.

In spite of his blatant adoration for the man, Lafayette doesn't go into full-on fangirl mode and contents himself with taking a seat in the back. Maybe he doesn't want to tarnish his idol's reputation by showing that he has a following among the fundamentalist ranks of the PDS population, Alexander thinks, somewhat bitterly. Okay, maybe the way he was treated at the entrance did bother him a little.

"You okay?" Lafayette asks him, which is kind of a weird question in this context.

"Sure," Alexander confirms. "I think I'm the most okay person in here, actually. Everyone else looks like they're about to combust with the sheer ardor of their love for Washington."

Lafayette gives him a sly grin. "I can't wait 'til you hear him and become even worse than the rest of us."

"Me neither. I feel like the only sober guy at the party, it's super-weird," Alexander shoots back, and there's a part of him that means it.

The moderator steps on the small stage then – a woman in her mid-30s with a plain gray skirt and her hair pulled up in a bob. She asks the attendees to turn off their cellphones and proceeds to introduce the panelists: blogger and writer Charles Lee, recipient of some prize Alexander has never heard of, and writer, lawyer and professor George Washington. A good part of the audience positively roars when the latter walks on stage.

Alexander tries to catch a glimpse of him over the swarm of heads that separate him and Lafayette from the stage. He briefly sees Washington take his seat before the tall redhead sitting right in front of him shifts in her seat and blocks his view. That's okay though – Alexander would rather form an opinion on the guy based on his words than on his looks anyway.

As it turns out, the first person he ends up forming an opinion on is Lee, and it's not a good opinion at all. The guy is the youngest person on stage, yet he sounds like he was transplanted there right from the 60s – he doesn't even mention PDS sufferers specifically, but it's clear as day that he's talking about them when he goes on and on about the government being held hostage by people without a conscience, about the honest, hard-working citizens of America being deprived of their most fundamental rights (first and foremost the right to talk bullshit, Alexander thinks, immediately followed by that to discriminate minorities), about a tyrannical government (it's unclear to Alexander whether it's the same poor bullied government he mentioned before) that forces people to live side by side with the monsters that ravaged their cities and killed their sons. He says exactly that, "killed their sons", and Alexander scoffs so loudly that a few people turn to throw him a look. Alexander holds all their gazes, challenges them to say something. It's taking all of his willpower not to step on that stage and tear Lee apart, they can't expect him to start monitoring his gut reactions too.

To make things even more irritating, the moderator obviously agrees with Lee's sanctimonious spiel. She keeps mumbling her approval into the mic while he's talking, which would be annoying even if what Lee were saying wasn't totally ludicrous, and the way she poses her questions to both panelists is so partisan that Alexander really really feels like slapping her.

"Please tell me they're taking questions from the audience at the end," he whispers to Lafayette at some point, because if he just sits there in silence he's going to explode. Literally. Like, there will be little pieces of him scattered all over the Washington fan club.

"Behave, Hammie," his friend warns him, but he can't suppress a little smile and Alexander takes it as silent endorsement.

The one good thing about the panel is George Washington. Where Lee is loud and agitated, he is calm and dignified. Far from making him appear weak in front of his opponent, his attitude has the advantage of making Lee look like a self-important kid who has no idea what he's talking about. Which isn't probably that far from the truth. Alexander likes the strategy, and he kinda wishes he had the right looks and disposition to pull it off.

At the same time, Alexander finally understands what Angelica meant when she accused Washington of being too coy about certain subjects. He doesn't openly mention the PDS plight either, choosing instead to center his argument on more generic matters like human rights and the fact that laws should serve the people, not the other way round – all good points, relevant to the discussion, but Alexander can't help being annoyed at the fact that the panel is obviously about the utility to write new laws that are more inclusive to the PDS community and absolutely no one, not even the most progressive of the speakers, dares so much as to utter the much dreaded three little syllables.

He points this out to his friend, who shrugs. "On paper I'd agree, but Washington is doing more for our cause with his vague argumentations than any outspoken PDS rights movement."

"Maybe, but how can he truly support people he's embarrassed to be associated with?" Alexander presses on.

"He's not embarrassed," Lafayette denies with conviction. "Wait 'til you talk to him, he'll change your mind."

"He's just a hypocrite then," Alexander whispers back, contempt pervading every word, and it probably wasn't a good idea.

Lafayette sighs. "Can we discuss this later? I'm trying to follow the discussion."

Well, he took it better than Alexander feared. "Sure," he accepts, albeit reluctantly. He sits back and tries to focus on the debate, to put aside his annoyance at Washington's methods (and let's be honest, popularity) and welcome his words with an open mind. The good news is that Lee is so awful that he makes it incredibly easy to root for whomever is speaking against him.

"So you're saying that you won't violate the sanctity of our Constitution. Do you know there have been amendments since the birth of our nation, right?" he accuses Washington, who just finished explaining why approving new segregation laws would be unconstitutional.

Washington, as usual, doesn't bite. "As I said before, I'm completely in favor of amendments. Their purpose should be to update the existing Constitution, though, not to corrupt its very foundation. The discriminatory laws you're endorsing have no place in any modern country, and certainly not in ours."

"The UK has already approved a 'Give Back' program, and they're starting to consider segregation to contrast the recent increase in the violence rate all over the country," Lee points out. Alexander knows it all too well – he's been online for the best part of last night, trying to comfort a Scottish girl desperate about the way things are looking in her town. The fact that Lee would take those horrible measures as an example they should all follow makes Alexander's skin crawl. "Are you suggesting that our British allies are behind the times?"

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped putting words in my mouth," Washington warns, his tone still as polite as can be. "The UK is handling the situation as they see fit and we're not here to discuss their decisions. But if you're suggesting we follow in their footsteps, you'll find me strongly opposed."

"And why is that, Professor Washington?" the moderator steps in. Watching her interact with Washington is as horrifyingly fascinating as looking at the scene of a car accident – she seems to be under his spell as much as the audience, but she also clearly disagrees with his views so her tone is constantly switching between adulatory and put off.

"Because I don't believe we'll achieve anything by creating more disunity," Washington declares. "We should look back at history and learn from it. If we did, maybe we'd realize that discrimination has never solved any problems – actually, it has a tendency to make them much worse in the long run."

Lee scoffs. "History can't teach us much these days. We've seen the dead roam the earth, for God's sake, it's clear that the old rules don't apply anymore."

That's probably the dumbest thing Alexander has ever heard, and he's picked his fair share of fights with Internet trolls. He's actually looking forward to hearing Washington destroy him.

So he's really disappointed when the moderator cuts Washington off before he can even open his mouth to reply. "And... it seems like we're out of time," she announces. "A heartfelt thanks to our guests, thanks to all of you, of course, for coming, and don't forget – Washington's newest book, _The Nation Reborn_ , will be available for pre-order starting tomorrow at 6 pm."

People start standing up, flocking to the stage where Washington and Lee are signing autographs. Alexander is considering going there too, tell Lee what he thinks about him and his moronic stances, but Lafayette doesn't give him a chance to. "So? What did you think?"

Alexander mulls over the question for a few seconds. "He's okay," he decides in the end. "Though I'm starting to suspect most of his popularity stems from the fact that his opposition is so cringe-worthy."

Lafayette laughs heartily. "I know, right? Where did they even find that guy?"

"I don't know, but if he's really a blogger you can bet I'm going to find him and give him a piece of my mind very soon."

"Let me know when you do, I'd love to be there for it." Lafayette stands up, then, and suggests: "How about we go back to Angelica's bar for lunch? I'm sure she'll be delighted to see us order something else than alcohol for once."

Alexander chews on his lower lip, pensive. He'd definitely enjoy seeing Angelica again today, especially since their previous encounter was cut short by Lafayette and the conference, and if he must waste money on food he might as well give it to someone he likes, so going to her bar does seem like the best option. Yet, for some reason the idea doesn't sit well with him.

"Also, she's going to kill us if she finds out we passed on the chance to introduce her to Washington," Lafayette adds at his friend's hesitation.

That's enough to make up Alexander's mind. He's seriously scared of what Angelica could do to him if he pissed her off. "Good point," he agrees. "The Archive it is, then. I just hope it's not too common for your big star," he adds jokingly.

Lafayette sticks his tongue at him just as jokingly and they walk down to the stage, where people are finally beginning to disperse. There's still a small crowd surrounding Washington, three or four people standing shyly in his presence, but he quickly sends them on their way when he sees Lafayette, rushing to meet him and Alexander halfway.

"Lafayette! I'm really glad you made it," he says, hugging him a little tighter than it's probably appropriate in a professor-student relationship. Not that Alexander is bothered by it. He's actually pleasantly surprised, because in spite of Lafayette's multiple reassurances he still didn't expect Washington to be too comfortable around PDS sufferers, let alone be so openly affectionate with one of them.

Lafayette enthusiastically returns the hug, blissfully unaware of the fact that Alexander (and Laurens, as soon as Alexander gets him up to speed) will never let him live it down. "I told you I'd be here," Lafayette protests. He breaks the hug then, turns to Alexander and makes the introductions: "Alexander, George Washington. Washington, Alexander Hamilton. He's that brilliant new roommate of mine I've been telling you about," he reminds Washington.

"Professor Washington, it's a real pleasure to meet you," Alexander says politely, shaking the hand the man is offering him.

"The pleasure is all mine," Washington replies. "I've heard great things about you – and not just from Lafayette. You're the kid who finished law school at 24, right?"

"Yep," Alexander confirms, proud. He hears Lafayette gasp in disbelief by his side, but he holds Washington's gaze. "How did you know?"

"I'm good friends with an old professor of yours. Snyder?"

Alexander remembers the guy – a little boring in class, but he was never dismissive of Alexander's ambitions, which is more than he can say for most of his other teachers. "Oh, sure. How's he doing?"

Washington shrugs. "Starting to feel tired, but he soldiers on like the rest of us," he recounts. Then he turns to Lafayette: "So, are you still sure you want us to have lunch?"

"Sure," Lafayette replies without hesitation. "Well, if you're up for it, of course."

Washington nods. "Lead the way, then."

The way back to Angelica's is spent discussing Alexander's latest article, which apparently Washington took the time to find and read after Lafayette started insisting the two of them should meet – a good sign, Alexander hopes. He doubts Washington would get so interested in a guy he isn't planning on hiring.

"I found it truly fascinating," Washington is telling him. "Not nearly enough information about treatment centers has been made public, if you ask me. It's outrageous, especially if you think about the key role they're playing in our society."

"I've heard of a boy who was sent back by his own family just because he stopped wearing his make-up," Lafayette chimes in. "I really want to believe they wouldn't have done that had they known what those places are like."

Alexander grimaces. "Yeah, especially if they send you back. The first time around it's not that bad, and most of the problems stem from the fact that the staff is too small and was trained too quickly, so they could easily be solved. But if they send you back as a non-compliant, you're fair game."

"Have you been back?" Washington asks, his voice low.

Alexander shakes his head. "Thankfully, no. But I've talked to a few people who have and believe me, they're not in good shape."

"Oh, I do believe you. What you described in your article... Horrifying. I don't know how anyone could still be themselves after going through that."

"They're not," Alexander confirms, desolate. He thinks about mentioning the fact that some of the practices described in the original article are even harsher in reality, so much so that his publisher decided to cut the most upsetting parts, but he eventually opts not to. They've already reached Angelica's and it's probably better if they switch to a less depressing topic during lunch.

So he lets the conversation die, and they all enter the bar. One more good thing about having lunch here – the food is mostly salads and sandwiches, so he should be able to afford it.

Lafayette stops in his track the second they're inside. " _Zut_ , I almost forgot – I have to take my shot. Hams, darling, please order for me. I'll have any edible sandwich."

"Even one with cheese?" Alexander inquires, remembering a conversation they had a few days earlier.

His friend turns up his nose in disgust. "I said _edible_ , Alexander. You know as well as I do that PDS-friendly cheese is the spawn of the devil. Be right back!" And with that he leaves Alexander alone with Washington – which might have been his plan all along.

Washington shakes his head. "That guy will never change."

"Thank god," Alexander says pointedly, a little worried about how protective he is of his friend already. Well, friend _s_. He'd personally hunt down and kill anyone who bad-mouthed Laurens, and as for Mulligan... Actually, he refuses to believe that anybody would be crazy enough to say anything bad about Mulligan out loud.

Washington laughs. "Well said. The world needs more people like Lafayette, not less."

The look on Angelica's face when they get to the bar is worth all the shit Alexander has gone through in his life that brought him right here right now. There's an excited sparkle in her eyes, and she opens her mouth as if to start talking, thinks better of it, and finally settles for offering her hand to Washington and saying: "Professor Washington, it's a pleasure and a honor to meet you. I'm Angelica Schuyler."

"The pleasure is all mine," Washington replies politely, shaking her hand. Alexander is positive she's fighting really hard not to start squealing.

"I'm a huge fan of your work," she manages instead. "Well, for the most part. I think _After The War_ would really have benefited from a more plain-spoken approach. I know editors aren't too keen on publishing material by PDS-rights advocates, but the way you wrote it, the whole argumentation you make sounds too abstract and sort of falls flat in the end."

Alexander bites his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. Of course Angelica wouldn't pass up on the opportunity to speak her mind. She looks awfully sorry now, though – knowing her, she probably doesn't regret a single word but still feels bad about being kinda rude to Washington two seconds after meeting him.

Time to get out of her misery. "Can we order lunch?" Alexander asks, changing the subject abruptly.

She turns to him, grateful. "Of course! What can I get you?"

Alexander gives a quick scan to the food on display above the bar, in the section marked _PDS edibles_. "There's no cheese in the ham sandwiches, right?" he inquires.

Angelica shakes her head. "Nope. I stopped putting cheese into PDS-friendly food because apparently nobody can stand it."

"So I heard. Laf and I will have two of those, then," Alexander decides, pointing at the ham sandwiches.

"And I'll have a bottle of still water and a Caesar salad, thank you," Washington makes his order. Alexander breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe there's a chance this lunch won't completely drain his last savings.

"Alright," Angelica says. "You go ahead and take a seat, I'll be right there with your order."

It's just a few minutes past midday and only a couple tables have already been taken by small groups of three or four people on an early lunch break. Alexander and Washington choose the one closer to the door, next to the window overlooking the street – it's not exactly an idyllic view, but it'll make it easier for Lafayette to find them when he gets back.

"So, Lafayette mentioned that you work at a law firm?" Alexander asks the second they're seated. He knows his intentions are probably clear as day and he doesn't care. He's tired of waiting for Washington to bring up the subject, and there's no way he's spending the entirety of lunch wondering whether or not he's going to be offered a job. He'd rather be sad and disappointed than on edge the whole time.

"I do," Washington confirms. "I'm co-owner, actually. Mrs Washington makes most of the day-to-day decisions – there's probably a joke about who wears the pants in the house here, but the truth is that she's dedicating herself completely to the firm while I teach classes as well."

"Your wife?" Alexander investigates.

Washington nods. "We've been married 16 years. She's an incredible lawyer, I think you'd love to meet her."

"I sure would," Alexander replies politely.

"By the way, Lafayette told me about your situation," Washington reveals. "That you're having trouble finding a job at any of the law firms in the city?"

Alexander thinks back to all the fruitless meetings he's had and makes a face. "Yeah. Believe it or not, most firms don't think their clients would be over the moon about having a corpse representing them."

"It's such a travesty. People's senseless prejudice will never cease to repel me," Washington affirms, and Alexander is pretty sure this is it, Washington is finally going to offer him a job. He leans against his seat, scrutinizes Alexander with an unreadable expression. "I've done some research on you, you know. The way you overcame your difficult childhood, your astonishing academic career, your writings – well, the ones Lafayette and Snyder pointed me to, since you always use pseudonyms. I'm pretty sure if we hired you, you'd easily be the most brilliant person in our staff. You might lack experience, but everyone has to start somewhere and I'm sure you'd catch up in no time."

"Are you offering me a job?" Alexander asks, so elated that he could cry. You know, if PDS sufferers were able to.

Which makes it even more crushing when Washington purses his lips and shakes his head. "I can't, I'm sorry. As I told you, Martha is in charge of most of the decisions and while she was very impressed by you, she was very adamant about the fact that we can't afford to hire any more lawyers right now. You see, we're still a very small firm and the budget is tight."

Alexander sags against his seat, completely drained of energy. This is it. His very last chance is gone. Maybe he should have waited 'til the end of lunch to bring up the subject, because right now he can hardly stand the prospect of sitting here for god knows how much longer and make conversation. All he wants to do is rush out, write a 30.000-word article about PDS discrimination in the white-collar environment and then find the only kind of job people like him can hope to get, because he can't keep living off his friends' kindness.

Instead, he sits there listening to Washington go on and on about how sorry he is, how he's going to do anything he can to help him, how he'll be in touch as soon as a position opens, it just might take a while but if he's patient enough he's sure...

Why doesn't anybody get it? Alexander is done being patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in the beginning is New Orleans by Mal Blum, from their album You Look A Lot Like Me.
> 
> Once again, IrreverentFangirl has all my gratitude for taking the time to beta ^^
> 
> Lastly, my humble apologies for taking this long to post this. The good news is that I've used the time to write a bit ahead, so from now on I should start updating more regularly.


	4. In which Alexander undergoes The Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for the utter crackiness of this chapter. I promise it's all relevant to the actual plot. Well, a good 70% is. The rest is just me having fun with the Squad ^^'
> 
> Thanks again to the beautiful people who commented on previous chapters, you guys rock and I don't deserve you x

**Wren D:**

Great, more conspiracy theories are exactly what we need. Articles like this are the reason the living and PDS communities are at odds in the first place.

 

**Galen:**

Really? Articles like these? I was under the impression that the rift was caused by the living's resentment over what PDS sufferers did during the War and the lack of rights and constant discrimination the PDS community has to endure today, but you're probably right. Honest, objective articles like this one are the most plausible cause.

 

**Wren D:**

You call this objective? You're obviously trying to make treatment centers look bad.

 

**Galen:**

Do you have the slightest idea of the amount of work and research it takes to write a piece like this one? If I had time to waste I'd catch up on _The West Wing_ , not spend countless hours on a misguided crusade against people that never did anything wrong to me personally.

 

Check the title – the whole point of this article is to inform people of what really goes down in treatment centers, because I've seen way too much misinformation on the topic and I couldn't stand for it. It would kinda defeat the purpose if I made stuff up, don't you think?

 

**Wren D:**

I just don't like seeing people badmouth treatment centers. We'd still be waist-deep in flesh-eating monsters if it wasn't for them.

 

**Galen:**

I'm not denying their fundamental role, just pointing out the faults of the institution.

 

**Wren D:**

But wouldn't it be better to focus on the positive aspects?

 

**Galen:**

Sure, if you're writing delusional self-congratulatory propaganda. Which is the opposite of what I'm trying to do here.

 

**Wren D:**

See, you ARE trying to further the divide.

 

**Galen:**

Are the four neurons you have too busy playing hopscotch for you to follow? Again, all I'm trying to do is spread information in the hope that more and more people will start pushing for the centers to get their shit together. If you think a place where:

1\. allegedly "trained" doctors still believe a bite or scratch can "turn everybody into fucking zombies" (actual quote from one of said professionals)

2\. PDS sufferers are given their shots and locked in their rooms to deal with the flashbacks alone because there isn't enough personal and doctors can't dedicate more than a couple of minutes to each patient

3\. whoever is sent back as a non-compliant is basically tortured into submission by vindictive sadists

is the best our healthcare system can do (and these are just some of the most glaring problems), feel free to turn your back on the issue and pretend everything's fine. But do everyone a favor and stop talking about it, because you're an embarrassment not only to yourself but

 

"Hams?" Laurens' voice coming from the doorway distracts Alexander from his online ranting. "We're heading out, you joining us?"

"Nah," Alexander declines, his eyes still glued to his smartphone. "I'd better stay in today, I have a lot of work to do. Have fun though."

That should be Laurens' cue to leave but for some reason he keeps hanging around the room, leaning against the doorway and fixing Alexander with a strange expression that looks a little too much like worry for Alexander's taste.

"Anything else?" Alexander asks, and the question comes out a little more brusque than he intended.

Not that Laurens' manners are that much better. "You've been sitting there for like, three days," he points out, as if it were any of his business.

"Two and a half," Alexander corrects him, somewhat persnickety. He has guessed where the conversation is going, and it's an argument he really doesn't feel like having right now. "And I did take a break to get my medication about an hour ago, so."

"Oh, don't give me that," Laurens protests. "You know what I mean. Look, it sucks that the meeting with Washington fell through but what you're doing right there, it's not dealing – it's spiraling. You're worrying us."

It takes all of Alexander's willpower not to jump at Laurens' throat at the accusation. He takes a deep breath. "Great, thanks for your feedback. I'll definitely give it some thought. Will you please leave me alone now?" He was going for fake-cheery, but his voice audibly shakes on the question.

At least that seems to finally subdue Laurens. "Sure. Have a good night," he says, his voice small, before retreating.

"You too!" Alexander calls after him, not wanting him to think that Alexander is pissed at him. Great. Now he even feels bad about being kind of an ass to Laurens on top of everything else. What else was he supposed to do, though? He really doesn't feel like going out tonight. He'd probably drink too much and regret it tomorrow anyway.

And Alexander is _not_ spiraling. True, he has only left the room once in the last couple of days and it was just to get to the shower, but that doesn't mean he's been lying in bed wasting time away and feeling sorry for himself. He's almost done with the first draft of his newest article. He's sent out job applications for eleven different positions – alienating and underpaid for the most part, so he's ready to bet he'll get so many offers that he'll be spoilt for choice. And yeah, he's been engaging in quite a few arguments with ignorant jerks on the Internet, which probably isn't the most productive way to spend one's time, but everyone needs a distraction from time to time. At least with his Alexander can hope to show the light to one or two people.

Speaking of which, time to destroy Wren "Three Wise Monkeys" D. Alexander quickly concludes his reply, hits send, and waits for his comment to show up. The whole process would take considerably less if he went to Angelica's – the bar is close enough to the apartment that its network shows up in Alexander and Laurens' room, but too far for the reception to be anything other than terrible. Still, if the alternative is to leave the apartment Alexander is more than happy to wait.

He ends up doing a lot more waiting than he expected, because even after his comment finally shows up there is no reply. Has he really won the argument so quickly? Not bad, considering that he has hardly even slept in the last couple of days. It also means that his primary distraction is momentarily gone, but he's confident it won't be long before someone else shows up just begging to be proved wrong. If there's one thing Alexander has complete faith in, it's the power of the Internet to bring out the dumbest, rudest, most ignorant side of people.

So he isn't surprised at all when just a few minutes later he stumbles upon a HarrietBriggs complaining that the article is too dark. _Too dark_. Of course, because when writing a report on the dire conditions of patients in a defecting institution one should always make sure they don't offend the delicate sensibilities of the people reading the material from the comfort of their fancy little homes.

Alexander starts typing furiously on his phone, so caught up in his outraged response that he completely forgets his surroundings... Which leads to him starting visibly when all of a sudden someone flops down on his bed, way too close and unexpected for his taste.

"So, I heard the party's here tonight?" a voice booms next to his ear. Mulligan's voice, he realizes. What the hell is Mulligan doing here?

"What the hell are you doing here?" Alexander asks out loud, and he's kinda horrified at how high-pitched with distress his own voice comes out. If Mulligan notices he got him to nearly jump out of his skin, Alexander will never hear the end of it.

Lucky for him, Mulligan seems to be too busy getting comfortable on Alexander's bed to notice. "Told ya, I'm here to party. Hard. And party hard I will," he promises, a threatening glint in his eyes.

Only at this point does Alexander notice the four paper cups his friend is holding. "Oh no," he says, putting the pieces together. "No no no no. Absolutely not. We're not doing this tonight." 

He makes a beeline for the door, phone clenched in his hand, and almost runs straight into Lafayette. Who's holding two bottles of booze and looks at him like a cat who just trapped a mouse in a corner.

"Come on, guys, ambushing me in my own room?" Alexander complains.

Lafayette comes in and exchanges a glance with Mulligan, who shrugs. "Laurens gave us permission," he says, as if that makes it okay.

"It's true," Laurens confirms, following in after Lafayette and bringing one more bottle with him. It's regular people vodka, Alexander notices automatically, so Laurens is going to be the only one drinking from that bottle tonight. He just hopes he isn't planning on drinking it all by himself – Alexander always thought he was bad at holding his liquor, but that was before he met Laurens.

"I want a new roommate," Alexander grumbles, but sits back on the bed. Even though the way is clear now, he doesn't have anywhere to run. And to be completely honest, he doesn't mind the others' presence here as much as he wants them to believe. Well, save for the fact that the room looks even smaller with all four of them in it.

" _Parfait_!" Lafayette immediately jumps on the bandwagon. "I'll finally have my beloved Johnny, and you can take Mulligan. I'm tired of listening to him snore anyway."

"Says the one who can't keep still even when he's asleep," Mulligan counters.

Lafayette gasps audibly in mock indignation. "It's called somnambulism and it's a serious sleep disorder. You could show some sympathy instead of using it to make me feel bad."

"I'm sorry, I'm probably just in a bad mood because _I haven't got a decent night's sleep in a year thanks to your 'somnambulism'_." He sounds so accusatory that for a moment Alexander thinks the banter has turned into a real fight.

Then Lafayette laughs. "Okay, good point," he recognizes. "But let's discuss it some other time, shall we? I think we can put aside our differences for Hammie's sake tonight."

"Yeah, about that... " Alexander interjects. "As much as I appreciate you guys staying in just so you can annoy me, I'd much rather do without the pity party."

"Pity party? You wish!" Laurens scoffs, and his evil little smirk isn't promising anything good.

"You hardly qualify for that, anyway," Mulligan claims. "I mean, I get it, being unemployed sucks, but as the only one in this apartment who'll never have to take another exam in his life you can take your complaints and shove them."

Harsh, but not entirely untrue. "Fine, whatever. What's with the invasion, then?"

Mulligan switches off the light – which would probably be more dramatic if three out of four of them couldn't see just as easily in the dark. Still, it's the thought that counts. "Time for your initiation," he says, and yeah, his deep, warm voice can definitely pull off "ominous".

"Initiation?" Alexander inquires.

"A time-honored tradition in apartment 3B," Lafayette elucidates. "Every new roommate must be initiated within the first two weeks of residency. Gal was the first, _qu'il repose en paix_ " – he toasts one of his two bottles to the ceiling, and Laurens and Mulligan do the same with another bottle and an empty cup respectively – "then Johnny, and now it's your turn."

"I _knew_ I should have requested you showed me some kind of contract before I moved in," Alexander groans half-jokingly.

"Sorry, it's too late now," Laurens shuts him up. Like every good victim turned perpetrator, he seems to be enjoying this a little too much.

Alexander puts his hands up in surrender. "Never mind, then. Am I at least allowed to ask what you're going to do to me? And I'm warning you, it better not involve branding of any kind 'cause if it does I'm out. As much as I love you guys, I'm not going around for the rest of eternity with your names burned into my ass."

The others laugh, and for a moment Alexander regrets giving them the idea. Eventually, though, Mulligan shakes his head. "Not so fast. First you have to pass the Trial."

"Which was specifically designed for you to fail, so buckle up," Lafayette warns him.

Alexander flashes them the phoniest smile he can muster. "Awesome."

"See, the Trial is based on what's perceived as your greatest weakness as a roommate," Laurens explains, "so for Gal it was his prudishness, I was, in Laf's words, 'a snobbish living', and for you it's the fact that you're a workaholic."

"I'm not," Alexander protests immediately.

Laurens raises an eyebrow. "You literally spent the last three days holed up in here because, you said, you have work to do. And you don't even have a job."

"Two days and a half," Alexander corrects him again. "And gee, thanks for rubbing it in."

"I'm just saying – you can't fault us for being worried you'll disappear on us whenever you have something more important going on," Laurens insists, and as annoying as he's being he does have a point. Alexander always has and always will put duty first. That's what got him where he is today, after all.

So jobless, homeless and friendless. Maybe he _could_ take it a little easier.

"Fine, let's say you're right. How am I supposed to prove myself to you guys?" he wants to know.

Lafayette gives him a shark-like grin. "You stay up with us all night. No cellphone, no news programs, not a word about job applications or law firms or articles on PDS rights."

"Just good old-fashioned fun," Mulligan sums it up.

Alexander considers the conditions. "Am I allowed to talk shit about the system?" he asks.

"That's always allowed and encouraged," Laurens replies, and the two of them share a complicit smile.

"Then I accept the challenge," Alexander declares, solemn. He should probably be embarrassed at how seriously he's taking his friends' shenanigans, but it's easier said than done when the three of them are so pumped.

Lafayette and Laurens set to cracking the bottles open, the same victorious expression coloring both their faces, while Mulligan ruffles Alexander's hair affectionately. "It's cute that you think you had a choice in the matter," he says, and cackles.

Alexander hasn't been keeping count, but he's pretty sure he's consumed more alcohol in the ten or so days since he's met these guys than in the rest of his life. And it's not like he had particularly strict rules against drinking before – he just didn't go out every other night. He couldn't afford it, not if he wanted to get a scholarship and then finish his studies before said scholarship expired. It feels a little like a betrayal to college-him, the one who had made a point to always achieve his goals before he even considered the possibility of doing something just because it was fun, to be living so carelessly now.

He gestures for Lafayette to fill up his cup so that he can start drinking before this depressing line of thinking drags him further down. He told his friends he was up for this, no way he's bailing so soon. Or ever, for that matter. That would be an ever bigger betrayal of how he's chosen to live his life.

"So," Alexander begins when they're all holding a full cup, "as you might have figured out I've never had a slumber party before, so you guys should probably..."

"Never? Never _ever_?" Lafayette asks, horrified. "Really?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What kind of miserable excuse for a childhood did you have?"

Alexander is debating whether to answer the question honestly when Mulligan steps in: "No, don't answer that. This is supposed to be a fun laid-back night, any kind of depressing childhood trauma talk is banned."

"That's actually a great idea," Alexander agrees at once. The others already know more about him than he's ever been comfortable sharing with anyone. He isn't ready to give them his childhood yet – maybe he'll never be.

Lafayette makes a disappointed sound. "You've already vetoed spin-the-bottle and alcoholic strip poker. How are we even supposed to bond?"

"We could always go out and see if we get into a fight," Laurens suggests casually. When everyone stares at him like he's completely off his rocker, he shrugs and says: "It worked pretty well last time."

"No leaving the room," Mulligan reminds him.

"Are you sure you planned something like this before?" Alexander takes a dig at them.

"Shut up," they all react almost in sync, turning to glare at him – or at least trying to. The whole thing looks so staged that Alexander can't help laughing in their faces, and they join him a second later.

"You do realize we're not even drunk yet, right?" Mulligan asks between fits of laughter. "This is so not gonna end well."

"Speak for yourself. I'm drunk on love," Lafayette retorts, raising his cup. "To the four of us!"

"To us!" the other three echo him.

In the end they settle for a game of Questions, which Lafayette swears to be right up there with truth-or-dare and spin-the-bottle in France. Alexander has more than a few suspicions that he's making things up, but at this point he doesn't even care. They also decide that Alexander will go first since he is, in Mulligan's words, "the poor sucker who'll be scarred forever by this night" and he deserves at least that.

Alexander is thinking of a question so uncomfortable and mean that it'll teach Laurens once and for all not to mess with him – because of course he picked Laurens first, he's the backstabbing roommate that threw him to the wolves and deserves to go down for it – when the turtle-and-elephants drawing hanging above his bed catches his attention one more time, and before he can help it he hears himself ask: "What's up with that sketch?"

Lafayette laughs and Mulligan groans. "Really, that's your question? Why is it always either gay stuff or nerdy shit with you guys?" the latter grumbles. "Think I need to find me some friends who are into manly things. You know, bitches and sports and wheels."

"Hey, I'm way into ladies," Lafayette points out. "Besides, you should be grateful. Thanks to us you can feel like you're the manliest of the bunch even though you're in fashion."

"Oooh, burn," Laurens sniggers, clapping his hands together. Then he catches Alexander's eye. "To answer your question, I drew that back when I had time to do anything besides studying. Gal loved it and insisted we hung it up. He's the only person I've ever met that was a bigger Discworld fan than me." To Alexander's blank expression, he sighs and concludes: "And _that's_ why I need to start subjecting all new possible roommates to a pop culture quiz to determine their eligibility."

"Ugh, don't you dare. Your endless geeky debates are the one thing about Gal that I don't miss," Mulligan declares.

Laurens raises an eyebrow. "Really, that's the one thing you don't miss? Not the Disappointed Dad look he always gave you after your one-night stands or the fact that he was a sad-talkative drunk?"

Mulligan thinks about it. "Nah, the two of you together were worse than even that," he decides.

"Come on, guys, new question!" Lafayette requests.

"Right. My turn." Laurens gives it a few seconds' thought before asking, casually: "Alexander. You've been out of the treatment center for about three months now, right? How many orgasms have you had since then?"

He almost chokes on his drink. He was expecting these kinds of questions from Lafayette, even from Mulligan after a couple drinks, but Laurens? He's usually the last to bring up sex, and even then it's mostly in-jokes between him and Laf. Not to mention that he got off lightly with Alexander's question before, and Alexander was kinda hoping he'd return the favor. No such luck, apparently.

At least Lafayette seems pleased. He claps Laurens' back affectionately, says: "That's my boy, always asking the relevant questions."

If Alexander hoped to get some sympathy from Mulligan, he's left sorely disappointed. "Well?" he presses him.

"Oh, sure," Alexander says. He takes his time sipping from his cup for dramatic effect, keeps them waiting for as long as he can before finally confessing: "One."

The others stay silent for a while, waiting for him to elaborate. Only when it becomes clear Alexander isn't going to say anything else of his own accord does Lafayette encourage him: "Well? Details, man!"

"I believe that wasn't part of the question," Alexander argues.

There's an exasperated noise from Laurens. "Come on, don't be that guy," he complains, at the same time as Mulligan threatens: "If you don't talk, I can tell you all about _my_ sexual escapades. I'm warning you tho, might take a while."

"Fine," Alexander caves. "If you must know. I stayed at my cousin's for a couple of months after the treatment center. He was PDS too, so we kinda helped each other out with, you know, going back into the world and all the shit that comes with it."

"Was?" Laurens picks up on the past tense. "Did something happen to him?"

"Killed himself," Alexander replies, dry, and he has to focus really hard on his surroundings – his room and the view from the window, Laurens' sketches and his friends' faces, all relatively new yet already familiar and comforting – to keep from his mind the memory of Peter's lifeless stare, the gaping hole he'd blown in the back of his own head.

Mulligan must sense his discomfort, because he throws an arm around his shoulders. "I'm real sorry."

Laurens and Lafayette murmur something along the same lines, and Alexander thanks them. Then he shakes himself. "You know what, _I'm_ sorry," he says. "I just broke the rule about no depressing talk. So, back to the time I lost my undead virginity?"

The others huff in amusement, obviously relieved at his change of tone and topic. "Sure," Lafayette readily accepts. "That is, if you're up for it."

Alexander nods. "Of course, I'd hate for you guys to miss out on this chance to mortify me." He tries to remember where he left off. "So, I was staying with Peter and he was not taking reintegration well. I think the doctors released him too soon – they probably needed to free up as much space as possible for the new wave of rabids. It didn't help that his wife had remarried when she thought he was dead, and his kid had been so traumatized during the Rising that the doctors advised against letting him visit his PDS father." He tries to drink from his cup and finds it empty. He gestures for Mulligan to give him a refill before carrying on: "He was in a pretty terrible place, so one night me and a couple old friends of his tried to drag him out, find him a distraction. We ended up in this terrifying club where they were doing all sorts of experiments with brains. They even served these little... I don't know, probably dog brains, just drenched in rum, which is something I've never seen anywhere else."

" _And_ something we def have to try," Mulligan decides, and points at Lafayette. "You in, right?"

"For better or worse," Lafayette agrees to the enterprise, raising his fist.

Laurens shakes his head. "Don't count on me to reanimate you. You put shit like that into your system, you're going to need a miracle worker to bring you back, not a humble med student."

"Aw, don't sell yourself short, we all know there's nothing you can't do," Lafayette says, and he sounds like he almost believes it.

No offense to Laurens, but Alexander doesn't. "He's right, you know. My cousin had like, two bites of one of those things and he was out cold 'til late afternoon the following day. I wouldn't recommend it."

"What was even the point of bringing them up, then?" Mulligan jokes.

Alexander can't help smiling at the feigned disappointment in his voice. "Sorry, you're right. That was just mean. Anyway, that was my first time seeing brains since before the treatment center and I thought it better to steer clear of the most extreme stuff and have a simple sheep brain instead."

"Completely ignoring the effect it would have, I presume?" Laurens guesses.

"Yeah," Alexander admits. "I mean, the guy selling them did spew me some bullshit about how it would 'open up my senses and make me connect to my body again', but I thought it was just poor advertising. Instead... instead it worked. All of a sudden I was feeling again, and not in the drowsy way you do after a medication shot. It felt like being alive, and it was fucking exhilarating."

"Which is why rabids go after brains," Laurens explains. "They don't need them to survive, they just crave that illusion of being alive. And nothing else can provide it, not even meds – the common belief that they can substitute for brains is total crap. Their purpose is to restrain the wilder, hungrier side of PDS sufferers, not make them feel better."

Alexander is about to ask him something, but he's beaten to it by Mulligan. "Sure, okay, thanks for the geeky interlude, time to carry on with the story now," he shushes Laurens.

Who complains: "Come on, you can't tell me this stuff isn't fascinating!"

"Not as much as hearing about Hammie's sexual awakening," Mulligan counters, effectively shutting him up.

"It wasn't a _sexual awakening_ ," Alexander scoffs. "It was me being extra-hyped and dancing for an hour with a girl and then doing other things with her."

"So you got laid _and_ Lafayette owes me money?" Mulligan asks. "Knew I would love this story."

" _Excuse moi_ , how does Hams getting frisky with a girl imply that you've won the bet? As an out and proud pansexual, I'm feeling very erased and oppressed right now," Lafayette pouts.

"Oh, don't you even go there!" Mulligan exclaims. "You bet he was gay, not pan. And he's not, so I won."

"See, I knew it was a bad idea to take a bet from a drunk. I said he was totally into guys, not that he was gay."

"That's true, actually."

"Naah, sorry Laurens, you've lost your privilege to serve as an impartial witness after the washtub debacle."

"Guys..." Alexander begins, but he's promptly ignored.

"For the last time, I didn't breathe a word about the goddamn washtub, that was all Gal!"

"And why would I even say he was gay when he spent half the evening drooling over Angelica?"

"Okay, that's enough!" Alexander raises his voice, finally getting their attention. " _God_. I thought we'd established that it's my life, and I'm not too fond of you guys taking bets about it?" 

They look at him in embarrassment, subdued. "Sorry, you're right," Lafayette admits.

"Yeah. Won't happen again," Mulligan promises.

Alexander considers his options for a moment. He knows if he doesn't tell them they're just going to keep wondering about it – and honestly, it doesn't even bother him that they're curious. Nor is he worried about the way they'll react once they know. It's just... he's never said it out loud, to anyone, and for the first time in his life he's finding himself unsure of what words to use.

Oh, what the hell. When have words ever failed him? "I'm sure you mean it, but since I don't trust you guys to keep your inner 12-year-olds in check let's settle this once and for all, shall we? I'm bi. You happy now?" he concludes, more smug than annoyed. He did it, he said it, and nothing terrible happened.

Lafayette gives him a half-smile. "Very."

"Bi is the non-pretentious way to say pan, right?" Mulligan wonders out loud, and immediately ducks to avoid the pillow Lafayette has flung his way. "Ha! Missed," he gloats, throwing the pillow back to Laurens.

"Whatever. You're lucky I'm too cozy here to go through the trouble of smacking your big uncultured head," Lafayette huffs, sprawling even more comfortably on Laurens' bed.

Laurens doesn't seem to mind. "Come on, Laf, cut him some slack, he's just found out he's being held captive by the gay agenda."

"Seriously though, how is it that out of all of us, the guy working in fashion is the only straight one?" Mulligan asks.

Alexander shakes his head. "Never trust stereotypes, my friend. They'll cheat you out of all your money and leave you in a pool of tears and regret."

"Ain't that the truth."

"Also," Alexander says, sitting up, "I believe it's my turn to ask a question. So, Mulligan – weirdest place you've ever had sex?"

Laurens snorts, amused. "This should be fun."

"Yeah, I'm not sure I want to hear the answer to this one," Lafayette quips.

"Shut it," Mulligan says. Then, after doing some thinking: "Man, I don't know if I can choose! I've got so many good ones. But I guess the inflatable bouncy horse takes the cake."

Laurens actually splutters his drink. "You did _not_."

"How do you even make that work?" Alexander wonders, trying to picture it and regretting the choice mere seconds later.

Mulligan gives them all his best self-congratulatory smile. "Trust me, if the girl's hot enough you find a way."

"Your idea or hers?" Lafayette wants to know.

"Well, she suggested it as a joke and I convinced her to actually try, so... neither. It was definitely the alcohol's," Mulligan admits.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Like you can talk. I bet all of you have done far worse." He turns to Alexander then. "Yo Hams, give us your most embarrassing drunken story."

"Is that your question?" he checks.

"'Yep."

"Why do I feel like I'm always answering stuff here?" Alexander asks, and the others chuckle. Jerks. "Okay, let's see... I don't have many, actually, and most of them aren't even that embarrassing. Except maybe that one time some friends decided we _had_ to take a dive in the Hudson in the middle of November, because hey, we're PDS and we can, and we spent the rest of the night drunkenly trying to explain ourselves to the cops that found us."

Mulligan frowns. "Weren't you out with us when it happened?"

"I was."

"Touché," Mulligan laughs, followed by the others.

"Now, Lafayette," Alexander interrupts his friend's cackling. "Be level with us. You and Washington, is it just a crush or should I start saving for a decent tux to wear at the ceremony?"

Laurens bursts into laughter and Lafayette punches his shoulder. "Ha ha ha. I wonder who put this splendid idea in your head."

Alexander shakes his head. "Look, Laurens might have been the first to tell me about it but I wasn't giving him much credit before seeing the way you two act around each other." He turns to Laurens, reports: "They were hugging for like, three full minutes after the conference. I've never felt more like a third wheel in my entire life."

"Oh my god," Laurens manages. "Why didn't you tell me the second it happened?"

"Sorry, I wanted to but then with everything that happened after it kinda slipped my mind."

"Well I'm thrilled you guys are bonding over my private business," Lafayette interrupts them, snarky. "Now, your question isn't even worthy of a response but since I'm a man of honor I'll tell you anyway – our relationship is strictly professional. I'd never go after a married man."

"You do think he's a silver fox, though," Laurens teases, and this time he gets shoved so hard that he falls off the bed. "Ouch!"

"Sorry Johnny, you were just begging for it," Lafayette says.

"Still in one piece?" Alexander investigates, watching his friend stand back up and smooth out the creases in his sweater. He always wears sweaters inside the house, Alexander realizes for the first time – Lafayette, Mulligan and himself don't even notice it, but the apartment must be freezing this time of the year. Now that he thinks about it, what's a guy like Laurens even doing in the de facto PDS ghetto of the city?

"Yeah," Laurens answers his question. "And ready for round two!"

With that, he jumps back on the bed and tries to push off Lafayette, who puts up a pretty impressive resistance. Though it probably helps that Laurens is way drunker than he is. They end up in a tangle of limbs, Laurens on top and Lafayette doing all he can to shake him off.

"Should we do something about it?" Alexander asks Mulligan.

He shrugs. "Suit yourself if you want, but I'mma sit this one out. I've been caught up in their foreplay enough times to know when it's better to hang back and let them do their thing."

Alexander doesn't know how literally he should take that statement. Then again, he's probably better off not knowing.

"Okay guys, that's enough, come on," he says, standing up and going to separate them. Lucky for him, they let him quite easily. "Lafayette, on the other bed. I'm not trusting the two of you to behave."

"And you're choosing Laurens over me? I'm wounded," Lafayette declares, but goes to sit next to Mulligan.

"I can hardly kick him out of his own bed, can I?" Alexander argues. Then, to Laurens: "Scoot over, will you?"

He complies, although not without teasing. "Oh Hams, you should take control like this more often. You have no idea what it's doing to me." He leans closer to Alexander for the last part, practically whispers it in his ear.

"Fuck off," Alexander says, grinning, and pushes him away.

"So are we still doing the questions or..." Mulligan starts asking.

"We better be, it's my turn to ask," Lafayette jumps in. "So. Alexander."

"Really?" Alexander groans. "You and Laurens just very near tried to off each other, and you're still picking on me?"

Lafayette gives him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, _mon cher_ , I already have more dirt on Johnny than I know what to do with. You, on the other hand, are new and mysterious."

Alexander shakes his head at the flirtatious way his friend says 'mysterious'. "Fine, shoot," he caves.

"How many guys have you been with?"

Alexander bites his lip. "Define 'been'."

"How many guys have you had intercourse with?" Lafayette tries again.

"Oh, that's easy. None."

Something close to disappointment flickers in his friend's eyes for a second. "Really, none? I thought you said..."

"Look, I've never..." Alexander begins. God, he isn't nearly drunk enough to be having this conversation. "I've never had sex with a guy in the strictest sense of the term. Doesn't mean I haven't done other stuff."

Lafayette nods. "Got it."

"I hope you know you lost most of your gay cred with that answer," Laurens says, and even though it's obvious from his tone and the mischievous light in his eyes that he's kidding, Alexander isn't going to let him get away with such an outrageous accusation.

 "Oh yeah?" he asks, and on an impulse he leans in, presses his lips to his friend's. It's his first kiss free from the stimulating effects of brains since he Rose, and he can't deny how weird it feels – mostly because he can't really feel it. He's aware of Laurens' lips against his, and if he focuses really hard he thinks he can actually feel their warmth, the tickle of the breath he's stolen from him, but it might very well just be a combination of sense memory and the signals he's getting from his other senses.

Not that it matters. The sole point of his stunt was to freak Laurens out, and judging by the way he froze on the spot it worked. "That gay enough for you?" he teases after pulling back.

Laurens is still blinking in shock, mouth half-open, too busy catching up with what just happened to snark back. Ha. That'll teach him not to underestimate Alexander.

On the other bed, Lafayette and Mulligan are having completely opposite reactions to the kiss – the former cheering them on, shouting some crap about letting love be, and the latter hiding behind Alexander's pillow. "Guys," he groans. "Come on, you promised this wouldn't turn into a gay orgy!"

"There's only four of us," Laurens points out, finally finding his voice again. "I don't think it qualifies as an orgy."

"Foursome, then?" Lafayette suggests, and by this point they're all drunk enough that he might actually mean it.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Mulligan threatens, horrified at the thought, and Alexander almost feels bad for him.

He shakes his head. "Sorry Laf, maybe some other time. I'm not willing to share Laurens with you two just yet."

Laurens snorts. "Like that would be your decision," he dismisses him, defiant, but he isn't fooling anyone – even in the dark, Alexander can see his blush all too well. God, he's almost too easy a target tonight. He should drink like this more often, Alexander would own him.

"My turn, right?" Alexander asks, and the others look at him in confusion for a second, like by now they've forgotten that they were supposed to be playing a game. "Laurens. Have you ever slept with someone from the apartment?"

Laurens puts the pieces together, frowns. "Is that your way to ask me if I've ever had a thing with Laf?"

Alexander shrugs. "Or Gal," he says, trying to keep it vague. He's seen the affectionate light in his friend's eyes every time they bring up his old roommate, and he can't help wondering.

Muffled laughter from the trio. " _Riiight_ ," Lafayette sneers. "I think he would have had better chances with Mulligan here."

"Forget me, he'd have had better chances with a lesbian nun," Mulligan piles it on. "And Laurens, your answer better be no or I'll have to find you some good punishment for breaking the rule."

"Oh, please do, I've been such a bad girl," Laurens replies, biting his own lower lip and wiggling his eyebrows, which of course elicits a disgusted reaction from Mulligan. Alexander is quite proud of how readily he ducks the pillow that was meant for Laurens.

"What rule?" he asks, returning the offending object. He thinks he knows already, but he wants to be sure. Besides, it's probably a good idea to interrupt their banter before someone gets hurt.

"No dating, getting physical with, or fantasizing about roommates," Mulligan elucidates, keeping track on his fingers. "You don't shit where you eat."

"That's a horrible saying, by the way," Lafayette chimes in. "So vulgar."

"Wait, no fantasizing either?" Laurens asks, eyes wide in pretend horror. "Oh god. Mulls, I'm so sorry, I must have broken the rule a dozen times since Hammie moved in."

He gets a punch on the shoulder for that. "Don't make me kiss you again," Alexander threatens.

"Please, I know you're just looking for an excuse." Drunk or not, Laurens doesn't miss a beat. Cheeky bastard. Maybe Alexander underestimated him. "Anyway, in the spirit of full disclosure – I did not sleep with anyone since I moved in, but I might have been fooling around with Lafayette right before I did."

"What," Alexander blurts out, because he wasn't expecting it. At all.

" _WHAT?!_ " Mulligan yells, outraged.

"Come on, you promised you wouldn't tell him!" Lafayette whines.

"Whose idea was it to play this stupid game?" Laurens retorts. "Besides, it's been like a six months, it's no biggie."

" _No biggie?_ " Mulligan echoes him. "You lied to me. Both of you. _For half a year_. 'Ooh, this poor stray kid, doesn't your heart break for him?'" he mimics Lafayette, and his French-accented falsetto is so hilarious that Alexander and Laurens can't help sniggering in spite of everything. "'Ooh, let's lend him a hand, after all what goes around comes around, doesn't it?' Yeah right. You just wanted to keep your newest boy toy as close as possible."

"Well I mean, have you looked at him?" Lafayette shoots back. "Look at how cute he is. Of course I wanted to have him around all the time."

Laurens raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, except when Amanda was there."

Lafayette clenches his hand to his chest, wounded. "Seriously? What's with all the recriminations today? It worked out pretty well for everyone, didn't it?"

"Wait, you were cheating on a girl with Laurens?" Alexander asks. He hates being out of the loop, and he most definitely is at this point.

Lafayette almost looks offended. "Of course not! See, you're even making me look bad in front of Hammie now," he complains. "We were on a break – her idea – and I ended things with Johnny the second we patched things up. I'm not a cheater."

"Aw, so you got your heart broken by this one?" Alexander teases Laurens.

He snorts. "Please. It wasn't anything like that."

"Whatever. You're still terrible people, both of you," Mulligan decides.

Laurens and Lafayette exchange a glance and shrug. "Fair enough," the former says. "Ready for the next question, Hams?"

"No," Alexander refuses. "That's it, I'm out. I get that the whole purpose of tonight is to torment me, but you're going to have to come up with a new way to do it. I'm done answering questions."

"You sure?" Lafayette inquires. "Because, you know what they say. The enemy you know..."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't care. You don't need to find out absolutely everything about me right now."

"Good point. Secrets are sexy," Laurens says, and winks.

"No they're not," Mulligan disagrees. "They're a very bad betrayal of trust."

"Dude, totally different context," Laurens points out, at the same time as Lafayette sighs. "Come on, let it go. You're right, I wasn't completely honest with you and I'm sorry, but you have to admit it _was_ for a good cause. Think of how empty our lives would be without Johnny."

That seems to convince him. "Fine," Mulligan caves. "I see how you could have thought you were doing the right thing in this particular situation. But no more lying about important apartment stuff, are we agreed?"

"Yes, sir," Lafayette accepts, and mockingly salutes him.

Mulligan rolls his eyes, but seems to decide that it's all the cooperation he's going to get from his friend tonight. "Try to remember it, 'cause I'm gonna hold you to that," he promises instead. "Now, who's up for another round?"

Alexander looks at the last lukewarm drops of liquor in his cup. "I am," he agrees enthusiastically, handing the cup to Mulligan.

"Good. Then move your precious little ass and go get another bottle from the kitchen. We're out," Mulligan explains, and tips the empty bottle he's holding for good measure. Not a single drop comes out.

"Guess I walked right into that one, didn't I?" Alexander sighs, standing up. "Any special requests?"

"Make it quick," Lafayette replies, sassy.

Alexander flips him off and makes to go to the other room, stops. "You do realize you're giving me the perfect opportunity to slip, right?"

Laurens shrugs. "Maybe it's a test."

"Or maybe we don't care," Mulligan suggests. "Besides, good luck ignoring us in favor of Internet trolls without your phone."

"My..." Alexander starts saying, his hand automatically going to his pocket. Empty. "Really, you're pickpocketing me now?" he asks, half exasperated, half impressed. It's been a while since anyone's managed to pull one over on him.

Note to self: stop underestimating these people.

"It's just for tonight," Mulligan says, as if that makes it okay. "Believe me, I have no interest in getting a front seat to your private late night conversations with Burr."

"I do," Lafayette quips.

"Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you but I don't even have his number, so I'm afraid you won't find much."

"You don't?" Laurens asks, incredulous.

Alexander frowns. "Why would I? We only really talked once, and I'm pretty sure that's all he needed to decide that he wants as little to do with me as possible."

"That's so sad. Who do you usually prank call, then?"

"Uh, nobody?" Alexander suggests.

"That's even sadder," Lafayette comments.

"Yeah, and we need to do something about it," Laurens decides, pulling out his own phone and starting to type into it. "Sit back, you can get the booze later."

Alexander complies, though he doesn't like where this is going. "Please tell me we're not doing what I think we're doing."

"Sorry," Laurens says, and hands him the phone. "You haven't really lived until you hear Burr trying not to have a meltdown on the phone at the crack of dawn."

"Come on, that's just mean," Alexander protests.

Even Mulligan and Lafayette look conflicted. "Are you sure it's a good idea?" the latter asks. "It's 2 AM on a work night. He's not going to take it well, even by Burr standards."

"And we're getting dangerously close to rent day," Mulligan points out. "I'd try and keep in his good graces 'til that shitstorm's passed."

Laurens cocks an eyebrow. "What's he gonna do, evict us? You know he has no real power. He just likes to pretend he does so he can feel important."

"I still wouldn't risk it."

"Oh, fine. But just so you know, you're a bunch of chickens," Laurens yields, putting his phone away, and that's the end of it. At least for tonight.

 

Some time and way too many drinks later, Alexander is squished between Laurens and Lafayette on Laurens' bed (Mulligan has banished Lafayette from the other bed after he spilled a full cup of booze all over him – jury is still out on whether on purpose or not), listening to the two of them have a pretty heated debate on the correct pitch of a line in some Adele song.

And maybe it's because of all the cheap alcohol he's imbibed, or because since his mother left there hasn't been another moment that he hasn't felt completely alone, but a strange, content feeling descends upon him and he finds himself thinking, this is it. He left his home hoping to never come back, or at least not to come back the same, and it was that hope that kept him going through grief, prejudice and poverty first and death, rebirth and yet more prejudice later. He wants to make something of his life, leave a lasting enough mark that people will still look to him as an inspiration decades after he's gone for good and he knows he's not there yet, he can't even begin to see the finish line, but he has no doubt that he's on the right path.

Because Laurens is pressed against his side and he's as fiery and indomitable as a hurricane even when he's arguing something absolutely pointless, and Lafayette singing the same stupid line over and over could very well be the most annoying thing Alexander has ever heard, yet he finds himself unable to turn away from him, and Mulligan's shaking his head in exasperation and complicit looking at Alexander like they're the last two sane people in the world is telling Alexander that he'll never be on his own again, and Alexander... Alexander is sure, for the first time since he can remember, that whatever combination of fate and choice it was that got him here, it was the right one for him.

Nay, the best one.

And this is definitely because of the alcohol, but he needs to share the realization with the others right now. Well, maybe a Cliff's notes version. He's way too drunk to remember the thought process that brought him to said realization. The gist of it, though, he's absolutely sure of.

"I love you guys," he says. Or slurs, judging from the others' confused reactions.

"Huh?" Lafayette looks at him like he's just now remembering he's there, at the same time as Mulligan asks: "Did you say something, Hammie?"

"I said, I love you guys," Alexander repeats, and it takes way too much effort to get the words out but it seems to be worth it, because the others finally get it.

Of course, that doesn't mean they don't decide to be assholes about it. "Thought you said the foursome wasn't happening today?" Lafayette asks, mocking.

"Or ever," Mulligan interjects. "Pretty sure we said ever."

"No, come on, I'm trying to tell you something important here," Alexander insists. He pulls himself up to a sitting position, confesses: "I was jealous of Angelica 'cause I thought I'd never have something like she and her sisters have, but I was wrong. You guys, you're my family. And I love you so freakin' much."

If he didn't know better, he'd almost think Laurens' concern was genuine. "Come on, Laf, you promised you wouldn't let him drink himself into this sappy-flirty stage again."

"I tried, I gave him like two refills in the last hour!" Lafayette protests to the accusation.

"Have to agree with Laf here," Mulligan interjects. "It's not really his fault that our Hammie's such a lightweight."

Alexander gives up. "I hate you guys."

 

"Oh my god, guys, that's the sun. That's totally the sun!"

"Fuck off," Lafayette dismisses Laurens' overexcited exclamation – which Alexander would consider rude if this were the first time Laurens has startled all of them because he mistook some reflection of the streetlights outside for the sun. As it is, he sees all too well where Lafayette's irritation is coming from.

"I'm serious, look!" Laurens insists.

Lafayette doesn't dignify his claim with a reply, but he does ask Mulligan: "What time is it?"

He distractedly checks Alexander's phone. "7:18," he answers, and only a second later does he seem to realize what it means. "Holy shit, we made it." He sounds almost incredulous.

"We made it!" Laurens jumps up, like he didn't fully believe it himself until now. "Hams, you better be still awake."

"'course I am," Alexander replies, swallowing a yawn. "I was talking to you like, thirty seconds ago?"

"Oh. Right." He frowns. "About what?"

Alexander opens his mouth to reply before realizing he doesn't remember either and closing it again. God, he needs to stop getting this wasted. It really isn't good for his brain.

Laurens doesn't even notice, anyway – he's too busy crawling on top of the desk in an attempt to open the window right behind it and... Alexander doesn't know. Plunge to his death, possibly.

He knows he should step in before his idiot roommate gets hurt, but through the alcohol-induced haze the most he can manage is a half-hearted reproach: "The hell you doing there? Get down."

Laurens pays no attention to him. Even worse, he finally manages to unbolt the window and he sticks his head out. His shoulders and part of his back follow right after, and shit, he looks dangerously close to falling for real now.

He kind of deserves it for ignoring Alexander like he did.

"New York City!" he shouts. "New York City, wake up!"

The others aren't amused by his stunt either. "Come on, get back inside," Mulligan urges. "You're going to break your neck."

"Give it up to the newest member of our family, New York City!"

"Johnny, you know we can't afford another noise complaint," Lafayette tries to remind him, without success.

"Give it up to the newest and most remarkable resident of Clermont Street, the tireless wonder, the one and only – Alexander Hamilton!"

Now, Alexander would be lying if he said having a friend crazy enough to throw an impromptu drunken tribute for him isn't at least a little bit awesome. He'd also be lying if he said Laurens' yelling isn't making him feel like someone is searing rusty nails into his skull.

Mulligan seems to agree. "Don't make me come get you, you know you're gonna regret it," he groans.

"Alexander Hamilton! Hamilton! Hamilton!"

"I'm not fooling around, Laurens."

"Alexander Hamilton! Hamilton!"

"Okay that's it, I'm throwing him out," Mulligan decides, leaping to his feet with an agility Alexander would never have suspected, what with his friend's bulk and the seemingly endless stream of booze he's seen him guzzle down tonight. He grabs Laurens around the waist and dumps him back on his bed with no apparent effort in spite of Laurens' struggling.

"Now, you gonna shut up on your own or should I do something about that too?" he threatens.

"Fine," Laurens caves. He stirs, trying to find a more comfortable position on the bed, and ends up snuggled against Alexander's side. "'m proud of ya, Alexander."

"Thanks," Alexander mumbles back, though he suspects his friend is already asleep.

"Me too," Lafayette joins in. " _Bon travail_ , and welcome to the family."

As much as Alexander appreciates their support, he has to admit the best recognition comes in the form of Mulligan finally, _finally_ handing him his phone back. "You earned this," he says. "Didn't think you'd make it, but man am I glad I was wrong."

Alexander almost hugs him. Then he notices the unread text and two missed calls, all from the same unknown number.

"Why didn't you tell me..." he begins, and his voice dies in his throat. Because he's reading the text now, and not only does he stop feeling like hugging Mulligan for a long, long time, he's definitely leaning toward cracking a bottle on his head.

It doesn't take him more than a second to find his voice again. "Mulligan, what the fuck?! Why didn't you tell me Washington was trying to contact me?"

Mulligan has the audacity to shrug, the heartless jerk. "We said no phone," he offers, and it's clear that that's it for him. Whatever. Alexander doesn't have time to argue with him anyway.

"Washington?" Lafayette's interest is piqued at the mention of his professor's name.

Sleepy and smashed as he is, Laurens doesn't miss the opportunity to poke fun at him: "Probably just wanted to check up on you, make sure you're not having too much fun without him."

Alexander misses Lafayette's indignant reaction, too focused on Washington's text to pay much attention to his friends' childish squabble. _Hamilton_ , he wrote. _I think I might have found a job for you after all. Come see me tomorrow during office hours if you're interested. -GWashington_


	5. In which Alexander gets a job offer

Lafayette is kind enough to show Alexander the way to Washington's office at King's College, but he refuses to stay for moral support.

"I wouldn't want to make you feel like a third wheel again," he quips, and there's a kind of tiredness in his eyes. Alexander finds himself wondering whether his and Laurens' teasing doesn't bother him more than he lets on. "And it's probably best if I take advantage of my free morning to study. I'm supposed to take an exam in three days, even though _some people_ keep forgetting."

Alexander looks away, feeling guilty. "You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to come."

"Oh no, not you, _mon cher_ ," Lafayette says, and he puts an arm around Alexander's shoulder, looking at him like he's crazy. "I was talking about Laurens," he explains.

"What does Laurens have to do with it? I'm the one who's dragging you all around campus at 9 in the morning," Alexander observes, an apology and a thank you at the same time. PDS sufferers don't need as much sleep as the living, but that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate the hell out of Lafayette dragging himself all the way to Manhattan after a sleepless night just because Alexander asked.

Lafayette makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. " _Il n'y a pas de quoi_. A two-hour trip will hardly affect my grades."

"As opposed to...?"

"Organizing a full-scale protest in like, two weeks," Lafayette replies, dry.

Right. Alexander has heard the two of them discuss it over the last few days – although usually the animosity was more directed at their university's policies than at each other. They both seemed pretty convinced that the King's College Magazine's decision not to publish their article on PDS prospects after reintegration just because some board members expressed their distaste for the cause shouldn't go unpunished.

"Since when are you against stirring up trouble?" Alexander asks, trying to make light of it.

Lafayette smiles tiredly. "Oh, I'm totally in favor of that. I just don't think midterm season is the best possible time to start rallying the troops and writing inflammatory speeches. And you know what _really_ drives me crazy?" he asks, and he stops walking, so that Alexander has to stop too and turn in order to face him. "Laurens should get it, he's studying _medicine_ , for god's sake, yet he's still convinced we can do it all. And _ma foi_ , he probably can."

Alexander feels a fond smile pulling at the side of his mouth. "Yeah. He's pretty incredible."

"He's an annoying little shit, is what he is," Lafayette counters. "I mean, you're right up there with him but at least you look like you're making an effort – staying holed up in your room without sleeping or eating for days until you look like a..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but Alexander can guess pretty easily where it was headed. "Were you about to say 'zombie'?"

"I will only answer that in the presence of my lawyer."

Alexander snorts. "Cute."

He starts walking again, Lafayette hurrying after him.

"You know what I mean. You put everything into a single objective and you don't let go until you've reached it. Laurens, on the other hand... he just rolls out of bed fresh as a daisy and aces his exams and fights for justice and finds cures for cancer and does a billion other things, all without so much as breaking a sweat. It's frustrating."

Alexander shrugs. "He's a smart guy."

"So are we," Lafayette points out.

"Okay, then he probably made some kind of deal with the devil," Alexander suggests.

Lafayette thinks about it. "That would explain a lot, but I'm pretty sure he's already sold his soul for his looks."

"Maybe he got a special offer. You know, you give us one soul, we give you looks _and_ brains, something like that. I'm sure the devil's really into sales – hell, he's probably the one who came up with them in the first place."

That makes Lafayette laugh, and he finally seems to relax. "Oh, Hams. How did we go so long without you in our lives?"

"Honestly, I pity you," Alexander quips, because it's easier than saying, _Are you kidding me? You guys are the ones that changed my miserable excuse for a life forever, and I owe you so much and don't even feel bad about it. Because that's how great you are_. Still, he does want to do something for Lafayette. "Seriously though, don't worry about Laurens. I'll talk to him – maybe I can even lend a hand so he won't have to rely on you so much."

"God, Alexander, I'm this close to falling in love with you," Lafayette jokes, but the gratitude in his eyes is genuine.

Even that isn't enough to convince him to stay, though, and they part ways in front of Washington's office. Alexander sits on a chair in the hallway and watches his friend walk away – to the library, or some room where he can study in peace and quiet. Alexander didn't notice before, too focused on his own misfortunes to pay much attention to those of the people around him, but he does look tired, in the bone-deep, frightening way that suggests some bigger, deeper issue than a couple of nights spent partying with friends. Maybe they _are_ pushing themselves too hard, all of them.

The sound of the door opening catches Alexander's attention, and he turns to see a girl come out of Washington's office – a student, Alexander would guess by her age, though her outfit does give him pause. He hasn't been in the uni business for a while, but from what he can remember short skirts and revealing cleavages weren't the go-to attire for formal meetings with professors back in his day.

Not that Alexander is judging. He'd never dare tell a woman what she's supposed to wear – mostly because he's sure Angelica would find out and keep ranting to him about slut-shaming and the self-entitlement of the male gaze until Alexander feels utterly ashamed of himself and his whole gender.

"The Professor said you could go in," the girl tells Alexander, and walks away without another word, the high heels of her boots clicking all the way out.

Alexander goes in.

Washington's office is larger than their living room back at 3B. It really shouldn't be surprising, seeing that he's a law-firm-owner-slash-King's-College-professor and Alexander and his friends are a bunch of PDS students with part-time jobs at most, but still – it's disconcerting to actually see how deep the divide between them is. This is the guy who hugged Lafayette after his conference and talked to Alexander with the utmost admiration, and now he's sitting behind one of the two monumental desks in his office, somehow towering over him even though Alexander's the one standing, and Alexander is finding it hard to believe this is really happening. Maybe he just fell asleep right in the middle of Trial Night and now he's dreaming all of this.

Then Washington speaks, and Alexander has no time to worry anymore. "Hamilton. I'm glad you could make it," he says. He doesn't stand up, but he does gesture for Alexander to take the chair in front of him. "Please, have a seat."

Alexander obliges. "Of course. Thank you so much for reconsidering, sir. I guarantee you won't be disappointed."

"Hamilton..."

"I know you've already done some research about me but I still brought my CV. It's more professional and you might have missed something – oh, for instance, did you know I served as a juror in the Lawrence case when I was 18?"

"I didn't, but..."

"The judge was pretty cool. Abrams, I believe his name was? I was the youngest in the jury but he trusted me immediately, and he didn't regret it. Anyway," he stops himself, realizing he's going off track. "When can I start? I've been reading up on your cases, you know, before we met last time and then again this morning after I got your text, and god, where did you even find that guy you got working on the Harris case? He could have had all the charges dismissed at the preliminary hearing and now after his stunt he's going to have a hard time convincing..."

"Hamilton, stop. I think you've misunderstood me."

That effectively shuts Alexander up. For like, three seconds. "Misunderstood? What was there to misunderstand? You said you had a job for me and I should come here so that we..."

"A job. Yes," Washington once again interrupts the flood of words. "Not as a lawyer, though. As I've already told you, I'm afraid we won't be hiring for a while."

Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you. Does this guy get off on this? Getting Alexander's hopes up and then taking the rug from right under his feet, watching him stumble and fall and feel like an idiot for ever having dreams, because his dreams will only ever be just that. Is he a sadistic psycho or just so out of touch with Alexander's reality that he really doesn't get how awful what he's doing is?

Either way, Alexander really really feels like hitting him. Let's be honest here, it's been a while since he's come across someone who deserved it this much. Even the Westbrook guy was more of a decent human being – at least he didn't look like he believed he was doing Alexander a great favor when he was treating him like shit.

He only represses the urge because beating the smug condescension out of this jerk might get Lafayette into trouble, and he's the very last person who deserves to get into trouble because of Alexander's temper. Besides, as much as it pains him to admit it, maybe Burr was onto something when he suggested Alexander stopped picking fights with everyone who wrongs him. Mostly because he's starting to realize if he did, he'd spend the rest of eternity fighting.

Of course, this doesn't mean he'll let every self-entitled white-collar living walk all over him either. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm a lawyer and you said I could work at your law firm, what was I supposed to think? That you were looking for someone to set up a shoe shine stand in the hallway?"

"You're right, I could have been more specific in my message to you yesterday," Washington admits, and it's a step in the right direction if he hopes to ever gain Alexander's forgiveness. Too bad that he immediately adds: "I just assumed a smart guy like you would understand that if we weren't looking to hire anyone three days ago, I still can't offer you a position now."

Actually, Alexander can think of quite a few reason why they might want to hire some new attorneys (starting with the fact that the ones they currently have seem to be totally inept at their job), but that's beside the point. "Again, I'm a lawyer. What else would you have me do?"

Washington sighs, suddenly more somber than Alexander has ever seen him. "I have quite the rough year ahead of me," he confesses. "The firm is finally taking off and my wife won't be able to run it by herself like she's done until today. But I also have classes here, and my editor is already pressing me about writing another book. I thought about it, and I could really use a right hand man – someone smart enough to keep track of my many obligations, competent enough to run some business on my account."

It only takes Alexander a second to translate Washington's sweet-talk. "So you need a secretary," he says, not even trying to hide his disdain.

"An assistant," Washington corrects him.

Alexander sneers. "Whatever you say. I'm still not interested."

He makes to stand up, but Washington's voice stops him. "You should be. I'm going to pay you well, and if I'm happy with you there's a very good chance you'll be the next lawyer we hire."

"Are you really trying to convince me to come work for you?" The _shouldn't it be the other way round?_ goes unsaid.

"I believe it would be the best possible solution for both of us," Washington says, and he finally sounds sincere. "I know you're overqualified for the job, but I'm inclined to believe you haven't had many offers for positions you're not overqualified for. Am I right?"

It stings, but he is. Alexander knows he struck gold with this job offer – it's just incredibly frustrating that he came in expecting to be hired to do what he studied and worked hard for and now he has to convince himself to settle once again. Still, he has to admit that it's much better to settle for this than for any of the positions he applied for in the last couple of days.

"Fine," Alexander finally caves. He leans back in his chair, resigned and expectant at the same time. "So what do you want me to do?"

Washington smiles to himself, like it was all a big competition between him and Alexander and he's won. No, Alexander corrects himself, it's more like Alexander were some school kid struggling with his ABCs and Washington finally got him to say them right, and now he's really proud of himself because Alexander never would have made it without him. Which is even more annoying.

God, it's going to take so much effort to work for this guy.

 

It begins to snow when Alexander walks out of campus, a thick flurry of flakes that do their best to keep dancing around in the air for as long as possible before finding a resting place on the concrete. It's the first snow of the year, the first snow since Alexander has come back to New York, and it's... not as dreadful as it used to be. When he was alive, snow meant being cold and wet and late to class because he'd gotten stuck in frozen-down traffic. He doesn't need to worry about any of that now, and it's a pretty good feeling.

He walks all the way back home – he considered hailing a cab for a strange split second, _just because he can afford it now_ , but immediately dismissed the notion. It's going to be a while before he cashes his first paycheck, and he still isn't going to make so much money that he can start throwing it away on a merely symbolic whim. Besides, he can't remember the last time he's ridden a cab so the whole experience would most likely be pretty weird. Walking it is, then. He just hopes he gets home in time to coax Laurens' hangover ass out of bed and convince him to fix Alexander some kind of celebratory lunch, or at least a victory coffee.

Because Alexander is in the mood to celebrate. Alright, so the meeting with Washington didn't go quite in the direction he thought – again. It's starting to become a trend with the guy. Still, Alexander is closer to being back on track than he's ever been since his death: he has a roof above his head, has landed a job that pays well enough and, more importantly, is at least partially connected to what he really wants to do, he's even met some people he doesn't utterly despise. Things are looking up.

He ignores the little voice reminding him that every time he's thought that, life has found a way to prove him wrong.

By now he's used to go long distances on foot, and it's only a little over an hour before he's unlocking the front door to the apartment's building. Or trying to – he's just fished his keys out of his pocket when the door opens, seemingly on his own accord, and he finds himself face to face with Burr.

"Alexander," the guy says politely, and maybe Alexander is paranoid but he could swear the warmth in his voice is more strained than usual.

"Aaron Burr, sir," Alexander greets him back, nodding at him in mock deference.

Burr ignores him, which admittedly is what most sane people would do when addressed that way. He doesn't walk away either, though, nor does he step aside so that Alexander can get in. He just stands on the doorway, looking at Alexander, and it becomes really unnerving after the first few seconds.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" Alexander inquires.

"Not really," Burr says. "But since you're here, I guess I can spare myself the trouble to go find Mulligan and Lafayette later."

"Look, if this is about the noise this morning..." Alexander starts.

Burr raises a hand to silence him.

It doesn't work. "... it was for a good cause. Sort of. And anyway it's not going to happen again anytime soon, so..."

"It's not about that, Alexander," Burr interrupts him, effectively this time. "But thank you for fessing up so quickly. It's such an ordeal to get those thugs you have decided to befriend to apologize these days. As if there were anyone else in the building who'd spend the whole damn night howling at the streetlights." He shakes his head in annoyance. Then he looks at Alexander and seems to remember what point he wanted to make in the first place. "What you should tell your friends is that I'm still waiting for their share of their rent. Only the Galanis guy has already paid – but you already knew that, didn't you?"

There's something threatening in his smile, and it's clear that he knows. Of course. The powers that be might be too busy counting their money to notice when a PDS tenant disappears and another takes their place, but Burr lives in the goddamn building. It was only a matter of time before he put two and two together, and Alexander doesn't doubt for a second that he's going to use the information to have him kicked out of the apartment, or worse, if he ever crosses him. He silently thanks Mulligan and Lafayette for preventing him from prank calling the guy last night – the last thing he needs right now is a vengeful Burr.

He isn't going to spend the rest of his time at the apartment living in fear either, though. "Alright, what do you want?" he cuts to the chase.

Burr frowns. "I beg your pardon?"

Alexander sighs dramatically. Better for Burr to think he's exasperated than to realize how afraid he is. "Can we please not do this? I get it, you're onto me. Good job. But you still haven't turned me in and now you're making insinuations, which makes me think there must be something you want from me. So. What is it?"

Burr laughs, in that way of his that's too loud and doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, Alexander. You've got it all wrong – I'm on _your_ side."

"That's what every good blackmailer wants you to think," Alexander points out.

"You don't believe me," Burr realizes, and he looks almost hurt. Then again, with him it's hard to say whether any emotion is real or just for show.

"You're this building's supervisor," Alexander reminds him. "You're the last person I expect to cover for me without an ulterior motive."

"Why, because I could get into trouble if I didn't report you?" Burr guesses. "I suppose so. Do you want to know a secret, though?" He takes a step closer to Alexander, reveals: "Administration doesn't care."

"Yeah, right."

"Yeah, right," Burr insists. "It shouldn't come as a surprise to you. Do you think if they did your dear friend Laurens would be allowed to keep squatting here? He ain't exactly a PDS sufferer in need, is he?"

That's a good point, actually. At first Alexander assumed Laurens got accepted into the building because the program was open to anyone who qualified for it, PDS or not, but it stopped sounding so convincing when he started noticing that literally everyone else in the neighborhood is PDS. Or that Laurens is the only one out of the four of them who never complains about money.

"So what, are you telling me they're not going to kick me out?"

"Not unless you draw too much attention to yourself. Trust me, all administration cares about is collecting enough rent money to cover the cost of maintenance work. Well, that, and looking good in the papers, of course," Burr concludes, finally moving away from the doorway and out into the street.

"What am I supposed to do, then?" Alexander asks, because he still has a feeling Burr isn't telling him everything. There must be more to it.

"Don't make them look not good," Burr replies cryptically, and walks away without another word.

What a strange guy. Talking to him is like consulting an oracle – there's always a double meaning, always some riddle to figure out. He probably thrives on it, this image he's built of himself as the ineffable, all-knowing guy.

Whatever. Alexander isn't going to give him the satisfaction of dwelling on his words for more than strictly necessary.

He steps into the apartment to the heavenly scent of Laurens' coffee and to Laurens himself, wearing one of his omnipresent sweaters, his dark curls still messed up from sleep. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and talking to someone on the phone, and just the sight of him is enough to make Alexander feel at home.

The door to their room is closed, so Alexander assumes Mulligan is still sleeping off the hangover in Alexander's bed. Out of the four of them, he's the one who holds his liquor better – he's usually still capable of standing up and forming coherent speech long after Lafayette is reduced to blabbering undecipherable crap that only vaguely sounds like French and Alexander and Laurens are rolling on the floor. Unfortunately for him, that still doesn't save him from suffering the worst effects imaginable the following morning.

Alexander slides past Laurens to get to the coffee and is extremely disappointed to find that he only made it for himself – which is understandable since he probably had no idea when any of his roommates would show up, but still inconsiderate in Alexander's (admittedly biased) opinion. The thought of getting home to a warm delicious beverage is what got him through two long walks all the way to Manhattan and back, not to mention an extremely unpleasant conversation with Burr, and seeing that hope fade away like this isn't doing anything for his morale.

Laurens, bless him, seems to notice, because he makes some signal that Alexander can't really make sense of and starts moving around the kitchen, phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. Alexander would help him, but there's so little room in the kitchen island that he would probably just be in the way. Besides, it's coffee, not a rocket – he's sure Laurens can manage perfectly well on his own.

The choice leads to a slightly awkward situation, though, because Alexander can't leave but doesn't really have anything to do here until his coffee is ready, which means he ends up sitting there listening to Laurens' phone conversation like the rudest, most bored roommate ever. It doesn't help that from what he can gather from Laurens' increasingly aggravated tone, the conversation isn't taking a pleasant turn.

"That's not true," Laurens is protesting with vehemence, and there's something strange in his voice, though Alexander can't put his finger on what it is exactly. Maybe it's just what Laurens' tired, exasperated voice sounds like, he guesses. "You know it isn't true. If you just stopped blindly taking his side for once..."

The person at the other end of the line must have started talking over him, because Laurens doesn't finish the sentence. He meets Alexander's eyes, mouths a _sorry_ and seems to relax a little when Alexander shrugs and replies with a silent _it's okay_ of his own.

Then Laurens turns his back to Alexander, and the irritated tension in his shoulders comes back with a vengeance. " _I'm_ being childish? Who's the one who decided to stop talking to me overnight?"

Whatever reply he gets is short and only makes things worse. "He's been disappointed in me for the last ten years, Mom. As are you," he says, his voice almost cracking, and Alexander finally figures out what is it about it that sounds different – he's not tired, it's just that his accent is getting more audible since he's talking to someone from home. It would be kinda cute if the whole situation weren't so uncomfortable. "No, you listen to me for once, will ya? I'm tired of you two acting like you're the victims, like I'm the one who stabbed you in the back when you didn't even..."

The accusation must hit a nerve because Laurens' mother raises her voice, so much so that Alexander starts hearing her too. Sort of. He still can't make out a single word she's saying, but her outraged shouting at the other end of the line he can hear all too well.

"No you didn't, Mom!" Laurens explodes too after a little while. "You might have gone along with my decisions but you never, _never_ accepted them. The proof is that you still throw them in my face every time you need to remind me what a terrible disgrace of a son I am. To remind me how much I owe you for... what, not disowning me for making my own decisions about how I should live my life? God, you're right, you're the best parents ever."

He sets a cup of coffee in front of Alexander and Alexander shoots him a grateful look, but Laurens is too busy yelling at his mother to notice.

Not for long, though. "Great. Fuck you too, Mom," he eventually says, and he hangs up, dumps his phone on the counter like he wants nothing to do with it for the longest time possible.

Alexander clears his throat. "Are you okay?" he asks, hoping that his obvious worry won't be taken the wrong way. He's never seen his friend so upset, especially after something as ordinary as a phone call from home. But that's family for you – always showing up out of the blue to wreak havoc even in the safe little haven you think you've built for yourself away from them.

Laurens takes the stool next to his, runs an agitated hand through his hair. "God, I'm so sorry you had to witness that," he apologizes, mortified.

"Don't even say it. _I'm_ sorry you had to go through it," Alexander offers. "May I ask what happened?"

Laurens' phone starts buzzing. They both ignore it.

"It was my fault," Laurens confesses, and that's the last thing Alexander expected to hear. After all, his friend seemed pretty sure of the contrary two minutes ago.

"How so?"

"I had the brilliant idea to call my mother expecting sympathy from her. It's like I haven't learned anything in the last twenty-odd years."

Okay, this sounds more like it. "Sympathy?" Alexander inquires.

"Yeah. Looks like my dad just attended a series of conferences right here in Brooklyn, and he didn't think it was worth mentioning the fact to me or ask me if I was up for grabbing a bite during the five days he was here."

"Are you for real? Why wouldn't he?" Alexander asks. He doesn't even know why he's so surprised – it's not like he doesn't have any experience with terrible fathers.

Laurens shrugs, trying to go for cool and detached. "It's pretty in character, actually. Last time we talked he told me he was tired of trying to fix me and that he didn't want anything to do with me until I stopped sabotaging myself. And you know, I'm not so desperate for his approval that I'll let him dictate my life choices and he's too stubborn to take his words back, so this was the only possible outcome," he concludes, and he looks wrecked.

What an asshole, Alexander wants to say. He'll talk some shit about the guy to show Laurens his support, he decides, then change the subject to something lighter and before they know it things will be back to normal. He might not have much experience with friends and other people's family drama, but even he can understand that that's the best course of action in these kinds of situations.

So he has no idea why the words that come out of his mouth are: "Tell you what, why don't we get together sometime and write a heartbreaking bestseller about shitty neglectful fathers?"

Laurens smiles weakly, some of the hurt and bitterness finally fading away from his features. "Yours too?" he asks.

"Oh yeah," Alexander nods. "Hamilton is my mother's name, actually – I took it as soon as I could. I'd much rather carry her legacy than the old bastard's."

He doesn't know why he's telling Laurens all this. Usually, he steers as clear as possible from any conversation about his past. He knows all too well what information can do in the hands of the wrong people, and besides, he's come so far from the destitute kid who silently cried himself to sleep because nobody gave a shit about him but his mother, and his mother was miles away. There's no need to relive any of that.

So he's always brushed off even the most innocent questions about his family, where he's from and how he got this far. No matter who was asking – teachers, potential friends, the occasional girlfriend or boyfriend – his answers were always elusive, and it wasn't long before people got the hint and gave up. Even Angelica hasn't been able to get him to open up, and not for lack of trying.

It probably helps that he doesn't have a reputation to protect with Laurens. The guy has witnessed him throw up black goo for three hours straight in the restroom at the Archive, begging every scandalized passerby to chop his head off and put him out of his misery, all because Mulligan dared him to order the greasiest, heaviest dish off the living menu. He's silently watched over him from his side of their room every time Alexander was having particularly bad flashbacks after getting his medication. He's had his back since day one, when Alexander was just the reckless idiot getting into fights he was never going to win on his own, and Alexander is sure, like he's never been of anyone before, that he won't think any less of him just because his family was the very definition of fucked up.

He's right, because Laurens' voice is soft and free of the slightest hint of judgement as he admits: "I was wondering why you only have a picture of your mother with you." He waits for Alexander to take a sip of his coffee before asking: "So what did your old man do to deserve the _damnatio memoriae_?"

What _didn't_ he do? "He got tired of us," Alexander finally says, still unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice all these years later. "Of Mom and me. He got tired of leaving in fear because of us."

"Leaving in fear?" Laurens asks, furrowing his brows.

Alexander nods, his eyes lost in the dark depths of his coffee. "He... My mom was an illegal immigrant. She must have applied for a visa at least a dozen times since I was born, but to no avail. They didn't even care that she had a kid who was effectively a US citizen. And my dad kept blaming her for that, said she wasn't working hard enough. That she was a dumb bitch, letting incompetent lawyers scam her out of all her money."

Laurens clicks his tongue in annoyance. "What a class act," he spits. "Wait though, I thought it was easier to become legal if you're married to a US citizen?"

"Yeah, in theory, but last I heard it still isn't such an automatic process," Alexander tells him. "And anyway it wasn't my mom's case. My father never agreed to marry her."

"What? Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, he was an asshole. And for some reason I don't think his wife would have appreciated it."

"You've got to be kidding me," Laurens reacts, appalled.

"I wish," Alexander replies dryly, and he wants to elaborate, wants to tell Laurens all about that time when he was ten and came home to his mother crying in the kitchen, all of his father's stuff gone, and that time when he was twelve and came home to an empty kitchen, all of Mom's stuff still in place, and thought, _This is it, it really happened, I'm on my own now_.

He just can't do it, not today.

Laurens must understand, because he doesn't pressure him. "I'm sorry," he says instead, his fingers lightly grazing Alexander's, and even though Alexander can't quite feel them, just knowing they're there is comforting in a way.

"So do I win the awful father contest?" he asks, and he looks up at his friend and smiles, the weight he feels in his chest every time he looks back at his childhood suddenly less heavy.

"Definitely. My dad's not awful," Laurens protests, though he sounds more tired than defensive. "He just has a way of handling disappointment that would make a petty eight-year-old look like a smart, sensible adult."

"See, that's what I don't get. Why would anyone be disappointed in you?" Alexander asks, and he's surprised at how lame the question sounds because he actually really means it. His friend is one of the brightest, kindest, coolest people he's ever met and he can't imagine what kind of parent would be anything less than proud and honored to call him their son.

Laurens smiles a miserable smile. "Let's see. Top of my head? I was a _very_ difficult teen, I'm gay, I had to go and get into med school when the powers that be had already decided I should be a lawyer, and most recently I made the real dangerous real selfish decision to come live with sick people in an apartment without a bathroom."

"Wait, is that why he stopped talking to you? Because you moved in with your PDS friends?" Alexander can't shake a horrible suspicion. "Please tell me your parents aren't Victus supporters."

Laurens shakes his head. "Nah, don't worry. I'd be the first to call them awful in that case... and a lot of much worse things. They _are_ conservative bigots but they're mostly good with the PDS cause. They just don't see why anyone in their right mind would give up hot water for it."

"Well, to be fair I can't think of many people who would," Alexander says, and it sounds a little like a joke but it's true. "Why did you, by the way? I have been wondering since I moved in."

Laurens doesn't even pretend to think about it. " _Cur non_?" he asks instead, and actually laughs at Alexander's perplexed face, his first moment of genuine happiness in this crappy day. "Sorry. It's just something Laf used to say all the time when I met him. You know, back when he hadn't realized that having a motto is pretty much the lamest thing one can do."

There's a kind of fondness in his eyes, and he might have said that things weren't serious between him and Lafayette but Alexander doesn't believe for a second that he didn't use to have the biggest crush on the older, stylish foreign student who had a way with literally everyone – guys and girls, professors and students, even animals and little kids, probably. He wonders how things really went down between the two of them, because who starts sleeping with a guy, ditches him for a girl, and then somehow convinces him to move in with them to a tiny-ass apartment without basic appliances?

Then again, Alexander knows his friend well enough not to be too surprised about it. If someone's crazy enough to upturn his life just because he can, that's John Laurens.

Some part of his thought process must be showing on his face because Laurens smirks, asks: "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that no wonder your parents freaked out if you gave them that explanation too."

Laurens huffs, amused and annoyed at the same time. "Actually, I gave them the long version. Told them how I couldn't live with myself knowing people just as smart and hard-working as me were forced to live in places like this because they couldn't afford anything else. How I needed to show them my support, to make a statement." He grimaces. "They accused me of having a martyr complex, of course, because dismissing everything I say as insane and self-involved is easier than trying to argue with it."

And... they're back to the hurt and resentment. _Damn it, Alexander, you were doing a good job._

"Just give it time. I'm sure they'll come around," he says, and yeah, it's mostly to comfort his friend, but he really does believe it.

Laurens doesn't. "While I appreciate the sentiment, I can't help pointing out that you don't even know them."

"That's true, but I know you. And I can't imagine how anyone could willingly stay away from you for long."

"Kiss-ass," Laurens says, and he's smiling again. Then he sighs. "God, I'm so whiny today, I'm sorry. It's just... It's annoying to have all of your life choices constantly questioned, especially by the people who are supposed to support you no matter what."

"Yeah, don't worry. I get it." He downs the last of his coffee before declaring: "And hey, for what it's worth, _I'm_ very happy with who you've chosen to be."

"Thank you."

He looks more uncomfortable than pleased for some reason, and Alexander thinks it best to change the tone before things get too cheesy for his friend's taste. "Well, except for the med school thing because it ruined every chance of us ever working together. Can you imagine what a kickass team of lawyers we could have been?"

"Don't worry, that was never going to happen anyway. I would have killed myself long before I finished law school."

The tone is playful, but the coldness in his eyes makes Alexander fear he isn't really joking. He... doesn't know what to think about it. He doesn't _want_ to think about it. So he forces himself to smile and quips: "Come on, law school isn't _that_ bad."

"I know. It's just not what I want to do," Laurens says simply.

This feeling, Alexander can relate to. Neither of them is much for letting other people tell them how they're supposed to live their lives. "Yeah, I get it." He smiles again, and it's genuine this time. "Truth be told, I've never met another med student who was as into the subject as you are."

Laurens clicks his tongue. "That's because 99% of people who study medicine either do it because they believe that way they won't have any trouble finding a job right after they graduate, or because they want to help people. And neither of those reasons really helps you get through eight-hour shifts and two-thousand-page manuals."

"Whereas you are a huge geek and actually get off on studying that stuff," Alexander jokes.

Laurens rolls his eyes. "Not you too."

"Sorry, but that's one thing Mulligan is totally right about."

"Whatever. Geeky is the new cool."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Alexander can't resist teasing him.

There's the hint of a challenge in Laurens' eyes as he offers his right hand to Alexander, palm up, and says: "Give me your hand."

Well that was unexpected. Alexander tilts his head, perplexed. "What?"

"Come on, I promise I'll give it back," Laurens insists, and he looks so smug at Alexander's hesitation that Alexander has to comply just to spite him. And okay, maybe he is a little curious about his intentions too.

It seems that Laurens' primary objective is to make things extra weird, because he takes Alexander's hand in his and starts stroking it, running his thumb up and down his fingers, up and down, a small concentrated frown creasing his forehead. Alexander doesn't get it. He's just as confused when Laurens moves on to his knuckles, rubbing them quickly with his fingertips, and then all the way down to the back of his hand and up again, back to Alexander's fingers. Alexander can't feel any of that, of course, but just looking at Laurens' methodical fiddling makes him feel more awkward than he has in a long while. And just in the last hour he's run into a cryptical Burr and then gotten stuck as an unwilling witness to a family feud.

"Seriously, man, what are you doing? You going to tell me my fortune?" Alexander asks when Laurens starts tracing spirals on his palm – mostly to distract himself from the litany of _what the fuck_ playing on loop in his head. Laurens doesn't dignify the question with an answer, too intent in whatever it is that he's trying to do, but that's okay. Alexander can talk for the both of them. "Ooh, does the life line say that I'm going to die at 24 or that I'm going to live forever as an undead? Like, where do PDS sufferers fit in the grand scheme of occult things? Could I ask the spirits about my future or would they just be like, bitch, you're supposed to be six feet under right now, your guess is as good as... _Oh my god_ ," he breathes out, forgetting what he was going to say, because Laurens has just scraped a nail against the full length of Alexander's hand and that _sent a shiver through his body_. A real, actual shiver. He didn't know he could have those without eating brains first.

"Felt that?" Laurens asks, finally looking up at him, though judging by his smug little smirk he already knows the answer.

Alexander would smack him if he weren't too busy freaking out. "How the hell did you do that?"

"I don't know exactly," Laurens admits. "Sometimes I touch people and they come back to life. I can also turn water into wine, do you think it means something?"

"Laurens, I'm serious, you just blew my fucking mind."

"What can I say, I live to impress." He distractedly starts massaging Alexander's fingers again, and it takes Alexander a lot of effort to ignore the pleasant tingle spreading through his hand in favor of listening to what his friend is saying next. "Did you ever wonder why all your senses work perfectly well except touch?"

Alexander makes a noise in his throat. "More than you can imagine."

"Yeah, I bet," Laurens says, and laughs. "Well, me too. It just makes no sense. At first I thought the nerve endings in your bodies had stayed dead even after you Rose, but they seem to work all too well when you consume brains so that couldn't be it. Then I realized – they're not dead, they're just asleep for some reason. And they can be coaxed back into working, at least momentarily, if one's patient enough."

"You're a genius," Alexander says, his voice heavy with admiration. He can't believe a living was the first to find out about this. Or well, the first to tell him about it, at least.

"Nah, just a huge geek," Laurens quips, letting go of Alexander's hand. Alexander is very proud of himself for resisting the urge to beg his friend to never stop touching him – that would sound really weird, he tells himself, and it would plunge them into even deeper awkwardness. The kind of awkwardness that even the strongest friendship can never ever recover from.

Doesn't mean he's any less tempted to do it.

Damn, he needs a distraction. Anything to make him stop thinking about the feeling – god, he was actually _feeling_ it – of Lauren's fingers on his. So he starts talking, because that usually works miracles for him. "Fine, you win, geeks are cool," he concedes. Then he realizes something, and has to know: "Is that why you're so interested in medicine? Because with us around there's suddenly so much new stuff to discover?"

Laurens nods. "That, and I was there during the Rising. I've seen people come out of their graves unable to recognize their loved ones, and those same loved ones try to get their hands on every weapon imaginable to defend themselves from them. It was awful, but it was kill or be killed, no other option." He looks up at Alexander, and there's fire in his eyes. "Except that there were. Other options, I mean. In the end, we didn't win the war with guns, we did it with research and experimental treatments and medical facilities. We did it by helping the enemy instead of destroying it, and that's, that's fucking monumental. I mean, in the whole history of humanity, when has something like that ever happened? It was a revolution. The pen finally replacing the sword. And I remember thinking, _This is it. This is where the human race finally learns from its mistakes and starts to build a better future, and I want to be a part of it._ "

His friend's words are so beautiful, so full of hope, that Alexander hates himself a little for pointing out: "That didn't really happen, though. I mean, just open a newspaper, we couldn't be farther from a better world."

"Yeah, I know," Laurens admits. "But we can change our ways. We already have, and we will. It's just going to need some more work."

It's idealistic almost to the point of naivete, but Laurens looks so determined that for a moment Alexander can't help believing he's right. And even if he isn't, his belief is what prompted him to get into medicine and is making him fight for PDS sufferers alongside the rest of them. Crazy or not, at least it's doing something good for the world.

He must have been pondering this for longer than he realized, because Laurens asks: "You think I'm talking a load of crap, don't you?"

Alexander bites his lip, considering the question for a few seconds before replying honestly: "I don't, actually. Can't say I share your optimism, but you're using it as motivation to get in there and get shit done, not as an excuse to do nothing about the situation. I've got nothing but respect for that."

Laurens smiles, relieved. "Thanks. You know, you wouldn't be the first PDS guy to tell me I'm just a poser who knows nothing about their struggle and has no business meddling in their cause."

Alexander makes a face. Of course Laurens had to get shit from both sides, it wouldn't have sucked enough otherwise. "You know that's never gonna be me, right? I know you're one of the good guys." He remembers something then. "Speaking of which, how do you feel about me helping you out with your protest?"

"You're more than welcome, of course, but why would you..." Laurens trails off, the realization striking him. "Wait a second. Did Laf put you up to this? He's bailing, isn't he?"

"No, not at all!" Alexander denies.

Laurens raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe a little," Alexander confesses. "But he didn't put me up to anything, I swear. He just looked so tired this morning, and he mentioned you being on his case about the protest and he was worried about his midterms, so I thought I'd take some of the pressure off of him."

Laurens snorts. "Well ain't you a sweetheart."

Alexander winces. He's all too familiar with Laurens' sharp sarcasm, but he's never heard it directed at him before. It stings. Even more so because it's so unexpected – here he was thinking they were getting along spectacularly, and all of a sudden Laurens starts acting like a total jerk. And for what, because Alexander tried to give both him and Lafayette a hand? What the hell is his problem?

"I'm sorry, did I overstep my boundaries or something?" he asks, confrontational. "I had no idea I was supposed to ask for your permission before I offered to help out a friend."

Laurens looks away, and Alexander suspects that he didn't mean to snap like he did. "Of course you don't," he murmurs. "It's just... I was already trying to help him."

"How?" Alexander asks, as gently as possible. He isn't trying to attack Laurens, he just wants to understand.

Laurens sighs – not an exasperated, stop-driving-me-crazy-Alexander sigh, an exhausted one. The kind of sigh people let out when they wake up way too early after going to bed way too late and then proceed to spend the rest of the morning arguing with people they care about until they reach the breaking point.

"Do you know why Lafayette has been so down these last few days?" He answers his own question before Alexander can: "It's not because of midterms or the protest. Trust me, I've seen him tackle a lot worse. It's the holidays."

Alexander frowns, still not getting it. "The holidays?"

"Yeah. You know, the time you're supposed to spend with your family and loved ones? Too bad Laf can't, because his family and loved ones are in France and he's stuck here."

"Oh my god," Alexander says, feeling so stupid for not figuring it out by himself. Mostly, though, he feels terrible for his friend, stranded thousands of miles from home and unable to go back even for a few days because he isn't allowed to take a plane. It's times like this that he kind of understands the more radical PDS-rights groups, because seriously, why should they behave and be patient and only resort to pacific forms of protest when the living are stomping all over them like this?

"I know," Laurens says. "So you see, I was only nagging him about the protest so he'd have something else to focus on. I'm not the obsessive monster you think I am."

"I didn't think that for a second," Alexander protests. "Wait, can't his family come here to see him, though? They can't be all PDS as well."

"They're not, but just his siblings and parents are eight people. It isn't exactly a cheap trip. Not that they wouldn't make the sacrifice for him," Laurens quickly adds, "but Laf doesn't want them to spend that kind of money because of him, so he's always told them not to bother, he's got other plans anyway."

That does sound like Lafayette – always putting other people first. "Poor guy," Alexander comments, without making any attempts at hiding the disgust in his voice. Out of all the stupid pointless laws against PDS sufferers, the travel ban has got to be the less justifiable. What are people afraid of, that a PDS passenger will go rabid on a plane? And then do what – be quickly taken down and either be killed on the spot or sent back to the nearest treatment center as a non-compliant? Yeah, that sounds really inconvenient for the other passengers.

"You know what though, it's not going to be like this for long," he decides. "You and I and Laf and Mulligan, we're going to change things."

Laurens grins. "Who's the optimist now?"

"Ugh, you're right, I'm so ashamed of myself."

"Rightfully so."

"Look who's talking."

"Hey, I might be just as delusional as you but at least I'm not a hypocrite about it."

"Goddammit, guys, how are you even functioning right now?" Mulligan's entrance interrupts their banter. "My head feels like it's been flushed down a toilet. Repeatedly."

"It's 'cause we're still in our prime. Don't worry, we'll feel as hangover as you when we get to be your age," Alexander quips.

He expected Laurens to join in, but his friend zeroes in on the bleeping watch Mulligan is holding – Laurens' watch, Alexander realizes a second later –, mutters something about it being noon already and disappears into their room.

"I'm like, one year older than you, you asshole," Mulligan protests, flopping down on the stool that was previously occupied by Laurens. One quick glance at him is enough to convince Alexander to leave him alone – if he feels as bad as he looks, he's definitely not up for their usual morning bickering. Or midday bickering, in this case. So it's surprising that Mulligan is the one who keeps the conversation going. "So how was your meeting? Was Washington pissed you didn't call him back right away last night?"

"Careful there," Alexander playfully warns him. "I still haven't decided if you're off the hook for that."

Mulligan snorts in amusement. "What you wanna do, settle it the old-fashioned way? You, me, an empty parking lot late at night?"

Laurens, of course, chooses that moment to emerge from the room, syringe gun in hand. "You two going on a date or something?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Actually," Alexander replies, "my very good friend Mulligan was asking me how my job interview went. 'cause you know, he cares what happens to me. Unlike other people."

Laurens looks so mortified that Alexander almost regrets taking a dig at him. "Oh my god. I can't believe I forgot to ask you, I'm such an idiot."

"You forgot?" Mulligan chuckles. "See what happens when you drink all night and still try to wake up at the crack of dawn?"

"You shut up and take your medicine," Laurens shushes him.

"Touchy. What happened, didn't you get enough sleep last night?" Mulligan taunts, but he diligently pulls down the collar of his shirt to expose the catheter at the back of his neck.

Laurens makes to insert the syringe in the spot, stops. "You sure you want to do this here? You might fall if you start thrashing like the other time."

"I won't," Mulligan promises. "You know I never get the bad kinds of flashbacks on a waning moon."

Laurens rolls his eyes in a way that gives Alexander the impression this isn't the first time the issue has come up. "And you know I don't believe any of that crap."

Mulligan sighs. "Fine, let's have it your way." He stands up and relocates to the couch, where Laurens joins him and finally gives him his shot. Now, Alexander couldn't say whether Mulligan's theory has any merit, but to his credit, the flashbacks don't come. He simply groans softly when Laurens empties the medical cartridge at the top of his spine and then he sits there a while, head in his hands.

"Good boy," Laurens says, patting him on the shoulder and going to put the syringe gun back in its place. "Yo, did you see Laf pack his own medication?" he asks when he comes back. "I wouldn't put it past him to forget about it and go rabid right in the middle of campus."

"Yeah, I think he did," Alexander confirms. "Actually, I know it, because I asked him if he needed me to stay and help him get his shot but he said he was going to find a cute stranger and ask for _their_ help."

"Of course he did," Laurens says, shaking his head, but he can't hide an affectionate smile.

"Didn't realize he was that desperate." Mulligan joins the conversation from his spot on the couch. "Tell you what, as soon as I feel better we're gonna go out and I'mma get all of you losers laid. You really look like you need it."

"Have you ever noticed that your life is like a constant swinging from one hangover to the next?" Laurens asks.

"YOLO, man." He furrows his brow. "Well, I guess that's not really true but the philosophy behind it is still 100% valid. And anyway, that's awfully preachy for someone who was drunkenly trying to wake the whole street and get us evicted like, five hours ago."

"Oh, by the way," Alexander remembers, "I ran into Burr earlier."

"Shit. How in trouble are we?" Laurens asks.

"For last night? I think we should be okay. He's still waiting for you guys to pay rent, though." He hesitates before adding: "And he knows I moved in."

Laurens curls his lip. "Of course he does." There's a hint of worry in his eyes as he asks: "What's he gonna do about it?"

Alexander thinks about it. Burr said he wasn't going to turn him in and he might even have meant it, but there's no guarantee that he won't change his mind tomorrow. Or the day after that. Right now, Burr owns him – and Alexander is ready to bet that he's perfectly aware of it.

"I have no idea. He said as long as rent is paid nobody will notice, though, so I should be safe for now," he adds, mostly an attempt to reassure his friends.

It doesn't work. "I'll talk to him," Laurens declares, determined. By the look in his eyes, Alexander is inclined to think that his 'talk to' is going to be something more along the lines of 'yell at', and then possibly degenerate into 'beat up'.

Flattering as it may be to know he has someone looking out for him, there's absolutely no need to resort to that. "Laurens, it's okay. I can handle Burr."

"He's right," Mulligan agrees. "You're just gonna piss him off and make things worse."

Laurens opens his mouth to protest, but he must realize mid-act that the others are right because he only ends up saying: "Fine, okay." He points a finger at Alexander. "But next time you see him, make sure he knows if he messes with you in any way, I'm going to see that he regrets it."

"Yeah, we both are," Mulligan joins in, just as seriously.

Alexander doesn't know whether he should feel reassured or unnerved. "Wow. Okay. Thanks for the support, I guess?"

"Anytime." Mulligan sits up straighter on the couch so that he can look at the other two. "Now, you going to tell us how it went with Washington or do we have to call him?"

"Right," Alexander says, somewhat relived at the change of topic. "It went pretty well. I mean, I can't stand the guy and he still won't hire me at the firm, but that aside it went well."

"Wait, what do you mean he won't hire you at the firm?" Laurens asks, baffled.

"He says they don't have any free spots right now, but he still wants me to be his assistant," Alexander recounts.

"Well, that's still pretty cool, isn't it?" Mulligan asks tentatively, at the same time as Laurens hisses: "You're kidding, right? That's fucking unbelievable."

 _Yeah, tell me about it_. "I know. I was this close to start kicking him right there in his office," Alexander admits, his chest swelling with disappointment and rage even at the memory. He takes a deep breath. "But, you know... It might not be my dream job but it's something. And it sure beats lifting boxes of groceries in a supermarket full of racists, or doing the housekeeping for a family of living who don't pay you half as much as they should and still feel like they're great humanitarians for hiring you."

"Yeah, you're right," Laurens concedes. "It's just, it sucks. I bet you'd do a much better job than any of the lawyers they have there."

"That's a given. An untrained chimp would do a better job than their lawyers. But life's unfair, and death even more so."

Laurens can't help smiling at that. "That line's so gonna be in your biography when I write it," he decides.

"You're gonna write my biography?" Alexander asks, amused.

"Of course I am," his friend replies, dead serious. "One day. You know, after you kick prejudice right in the ass and become, I don't know, the first undead President or something."

He says it like it's something that could really happen – no, that _will_ really happen, and there's something tight in Alexander's chest because he's never met anyone who believed in him as much as he believes in himself before. It's a good feeling.

He clears his throat, jokes: "Sure, because you're going to have a lot of time on your hands when you're the worshipped chief of medicine who single-handedly improved the standard of living of the entire PDS community."

"I'll make time," Laurens replies, like it's as simple as that. "Right now, though, I have a speech to write, and I believe you said you'd give me a hand with it?"

"You didn't!" Mulligan jumps back in. "Hams, you have no idea what you signed up for."

"Why, what's the problem?" Alexander inquires, not knowing how seriously he should take the warning.

"There's no problem," Laurens tries to shut them both off. "Just Mulls trying to be funny when he's hangover, which is never a good idea." 

"Actually, the problem is that Laurens is insufferable when he's writing," Mulligan reveals.

"Says the one who's a dick 24/7."

"I'm not a dick! Do you think I'm a dick, Hams?"

"Uh-huh, no way," Alexander dismisses the question. "I'm so not getting involved in this."

"That's a yes, by the way," Laurens gloats.

Alexander rolls his eyes. "Can we please get to work?"

"Man, seriously, don't do it," Mulligan insists. "You're gonna regret it."

Laurens jumps off the stool. "Sure, let's go."

On the way to their room he sticks his tongue at Mulligan, who's still warning: "Run, Hams! Save yourself while you still can!"

Alexander shakes his head, not even trying to hide his amusement, and follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know King's College isn't a thing anymore. I also know that having spent a measly two weeks in NY a while ago wasn't nearly enough to make me able to paint an accurate picture of the city, so I decided to set this in a fictional, AU version of New York. You know, where Columbia is still called King's College and it doesn't take THAT long to walk to Manhattan from Brooklyn and you can have reformed zombies for neighbors ;]


	6. In which Alexander meets a boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this a couple of days earlier than I originally planned as a thank you to the awesome people that commented on the previous chapter. You guys rock and I don't deserve your kindness – though I sure as hell appreciate it ;]

"No way, that's not happening."

"Don't be a baby, Hammie. It's only for a couple hours."

"I don't care. I'm not gonna do it."

Mulligan sighs, already tired of the discussion but resolved not to give in.

They're standing in the middle of the living room, Alexander and him, both dressed as sharply as their limited earnings will allow and both ready to head out. Or at least Alexander thought so.

"What's your plan, then?" Mulligan challenges him. "Walk into the station looking like that and say, _Good morning, officers, are you gonna be so gracious as to let us have a PDS-rights protest right in the heart of Manhattan? It's gonna be totally chill, of course, don't be fooled by the fact that we look like_ goddamn terrorists _._ "

"Yeah, exactly," Alexander says, stubborn. "We have the same right to organize a protest as everybody else, they cannot forbid us from doing it just because I show up without stupid make up on."

"Technically, they can't, but by now you should have figured out how these things go. They're just going to find an excuse and tell us to scram. And then we'll have to cancel the protest and Laurens will be mad," he adds, as if bringing up his best friend is going to change Alexander's mind.

 _Sorry Mulls, you're gonna have to do better than that_. "Laurens can go fuck himself. I still don't understand why he decided I should be the one to go talk to the police."

"Actually, that was my idea," Mulligan reveals. "I don't trust Laurens around cops, they have a tendency to awake his rebellious teen side."

"He can't be worse than me," Alexander protests, though he knows it isn't quite true.

"Trust me, he can," Mulligan insists, with the detached composure of someone who knows they're right and doesn't give a shit whether anyone else believes them. "Though at least if I'd gone with him I wouldn't have had to waste an hour trying to convince him that putting on some make up isn't the end of the world."

Alexander grimaces, annoyed at the patronizing tone. "I know that. _Not_ putting it on shouldn't be either, though," he argues.

Unfortunately for him, while Laurens or Lafayette would probably feel compelled to agree with him at this point, maybe even apologize for trying to convince him to play by the living's unjust rules, Mulligan is way too practical to fall for this line of argument. "Yeah, but it is, so suck it up and get ready," he urges, and it's clear that the discussion is over for him. All the more so when he picks up some fashion magazine that came in the mail and sits on the couch, flipping through it distractedly.

Alexander keeps looking at him for a long moment, silently fuming, but Mulligan seems to be set on ignoring him. At this rate they're not going to get anything done, Alexander realizes, and that's when he has to admit to himself that Mulligan has won. 

"Fine," he caves, and god is it painful to get the single syllable out. He isn't going to let Mulligan get off that easy, though, so he immediately adds: "Fine, I'm gonna go and be a pliant little puppet in the hands of my masters, wasting money I don't have on horrible products that only make the living feel more comfortable. I hope you're proud of yourself."

"Very," Mulligan shoots back, barely even looking up from his stupid magazine.

Oh, Alexander is so done with him. He's almost glad he has to go get ready in the icky communal bathroom – anything that gets him away from his annoying nazi of a friend right now. He starts walking out the door but stops after only a couple of steps, suddenly remembering something.

For all his ostensible disinterest, Mulligan notices his hesitation almost immediately. "Well, whatcha waitin' for?" he wants to know.

Alexander smiles tentatively, terribly embarrassed. "I'm kinda out of make up," he confesses.

"How is that even possible?" Mulligan asks in disbelief, and Alexander's got his full attention, alright. If he's totally honest, he'd rather do without it at this point. "Didn't you say you've never used it?"

"Yeah, but I... may have thrown it away?" he suggests.

"You did _not_ ," Mulligan groans, sounding like the mere thought physically pains him. "Do you have any idea how expensive that stuff is?"

"I do, and at first I thought about finding some PDS sufferer who had use for it and give it to them, but then I thought, _Why support oppression?_ and flushed it down a toilet."

"You're unbelievable."

"Laurens said it was cool and hilarious," Alexander offers.

"Yeah, 'cause you're both idiots. Such a waste," he sighs, shaking his head, and Alexander isn't 100% sure what he's referring to, the make up he threw to the wind or him and Laurens in general.

Either way, he won't stand for it. "Well it's not like I was ever going to use it," he points out, defensive. "How was I supposed to know you were going to demand I looked pretty for the fucking NYPD?"

To Alexander's great displeasure, Mulligan doesn't engage, choosing instead to stand up with a sigh. "I'll see if Laurens has any left," he says tiredly, heading for the room.

Alexander follows him, puzzled. "Laurens?"

"He kept some of Gal's stuff," Mulligan explains. "It probably won't be a perfect match to your original shade, but it'll do a better job than mine or Laf's. Ah-ha, jackpot!" he exclaims, and produces a small cream jar from Laurens' medical kit.

"How lucky," Alexander grumbles. Now that the crisis has been dealt with, he feels he can go back to being cranky and uncooperative.

"Quit bitchin'," Mulligan says. He makes to hand the jar to Alexander, changes his mind. "Do you even know how to put this on?"

"Of course I do," Alexander answers, indignant. "Just because it's a useless skill it doesn't mean I haven't mastered it."

His friend looks skeptical. "How many times have you tried?"

Alexander thinks about it. "Dunno. How many compulsory classes on applying make up do they have you take at a treatment center, three? Four?"

"Four," Mulligan confirms.

"Okay, then I did it four times. One to get on the flight that brought me here, and three at the treatment center," Alexander reveals. "I got to skip one because I tricked the shrink into giving me more hours in group therapy instead." He's super proud of it, which makes Mulligan's why-did-I-even-get-out-of-bed-this-morning eye roll even more insensitive in his opinion. 

"How did you even..." Mulligan starts saying, then stops himself. "You know what, never mind. I don't want to know. I should probably help you with this," he decides, tightening his hold on the jar in his hand.

Alexander would protest, but by now he's pretty well-acquainted with Mulligan's no bullshit tone. He knows any attempt at changing his mind would only be a waste of more time. Besides, while Alexander is very confident in his mousse-applying skills, he's ready to admit that they don't hold a candle to Mulligan's. When his friend showed up for breakfast this morning, contacts in and make up masterfully done, Alexander couldn't help entertaining the impossible notion that he'd come back to life in his sleep by some miracle.

"Yeah, good plan," he agrees.

Another upside of Mulligan doing this is that it saves them the trouble of relocating to the bathroom – Alexander can simply sit on the couch and let the master get to work. It's a little weird, both because he isn't used to Mulligan standing so close to him (not when they're both sober, at least) and because Mulligan seems to take this shit _very_ seriously. He almost goes into a trance, so intent in his work that he seems to forget that it's not a statue or canvas he's diligently applying paint to, but a real, more-or-less live person.

Which, of course, means that he gets incredibly irritated when Alexander acts like one. "Can't you stay still for just one second?" he eventually snaps, exasperated.

"Of course I can," Alexander replies indignantly. "But this is taking _ages_. I'm getting stir-crazy."

"Well it wouldn't take me half as long if you stopped making faces," Mulligan replies, defensive. "What is it? You can't even feel the brush, how can you be so ticklish?"

Alexander closes his eyes. "I'm not. It's the smell," he admits.

"The smell?" Mulligan asks, incredulous.

"Yeah," Alexander confirms, and he shudders when another whiff of the acrid smell brings him back to the first time he inhaled it. To being tied up and in pain and hungry, impossibly hungry, the only creatures around him too similar to him to be preys but not quite like him either – they held themselves too straight, walked around with an air of controlled urgency instead of mindlessly thrashing against their restraints, and carried that horrible unnatural smell with them. Later, Alexander would learn that they were PDS nurses assigned to keep an eye on the more feral rabids taken to the treatment center, but the feeling of primal fear, of wrongness and discomfort, associated with the odor would never go away.

Mulligan, meanwhile, is sniffing the mousse in bafflement. "Come on, this thing barely smells of anything."

"I know it's not that strong, but I can still feel it, alright? And it's awful," Alexander adds weakly, starting to feel nauseous.

Mulligan must sense that there's more to it than annoyance at an unpleasant smell, because he immediately backs off. "Okay. Sorry." He hesitates before asking: "Look, you want to call off the whole thing? I can always go to the police by myself."

"No, of course not!" Alexander immediately objects. He's not going to let a stupid bad memory prevent him from doing what he wants. "It's fine, I can get used to it. Just... Please talk to me while you do this? I need to keep my mind busy."

"Sure," Mulligan promises, and gets back to work, if a little less enthusiastically. "You want to tell me what's up with you and cover up mousse?"

"Just bad treatment center flashbacks," Alexander replies, and it's as much as he feels like sharing right now.

Mulligan catches on right away, changing the subject to something else before Alexander even has a chance to ask him to. "Did Laurens talk to you?" he inquires.

"He's always talking to me, but I'm sensing you're referring to a specific topic here?" Alexander guesses. He just hopes it's nothing bad.

"Did he talk to you about Burr?" Mulligan clarifies, turning Alexander's head up so he can get to his chin.

Alright, the chances of it being nothing bad have just plummeted. "What have you guys done?" Alexander asks, even though he isn't sure he really wants to know. Now that he thinks about it, it's been a few days since he's last seen Burr, and he wouldn't put it completely past his roommates to have murdered him and ditched his body in the Hudson. Or maybe Laurens came up with some chemical compound that melted it completely? He isn't the type to let such a great opportunity to experiment with toxic crap go to waste, after all.

"We didn't do anything!" Mulligan denies, almost offended. Alexander hopes his expression didn't betray too much of what he was thinking. "We were just thinking, you know. Of ways to make sure he doesn't snitch on you."

"See, your using terms like 'snitch' is exactly what has me worried. People who say 'snitch' don't resolve their differences with a nice long talk about feelings, they tend to be the silencer and body bag types."

Mulligan grins. "Don't worry, my hit man days are behind me," he promises, and Alexander isn't sure he's joking. Who is this guy? "We just figured, ball's in his court now because he got dirt on you. So all we gotta do is find something on him and boom, status quo changed, he can't blackmail you anymore."

Preferable as it is compared to what Alexander feared, it still feels unnecessary. "He's never blackmailed me," he points out, because he's starting to feel that his friends are getting a little carried away with this whole Burr vs 3B Cold War concept.

"Yet."

"Why would he, though?" he insists as Mulligan moves on to his hands and arms. "If he reports me now, he risks getting in trouble too. And he said there's nothing he wants from me."

Mulligan sighs. "Look, you don't know Burr like we do. Laf and me, we even lived with him for a while, before he got appointed supervisor and Gal moved in in his place. And yeah, he's not a bad guy, but trust me when I tell you that he doesn't give a fuck about anyone whose name isn't Aaron Burr. He'll turn on you the second he decides there's something he can gain from it."

"That's reassuring," Alexander comments, sarcastic.

"It's not," Mulligan admits, "that's why we need to neutralize him before he changes his mind."

"Easier said than done. The guy's practically a monk, I doubt he's ever even entertained the notion of doing something that could jeopardize him or his career."

"Exactly. So the second we find a teeny tiny bit of scandalous intel on him, we'll own him."

"How are you so confident about it?" Alexander wonders.

Mulligan isn't looking at him directly, too focused on laying long, even strokes of paint on Alexander's arms, but Alexander could swear he sees something cold flash in his eyes for a quick instant. "Believe me, if you live in this part of town, you do have at least a few dark secrets. Burr is pretty good at putting up a front, but deep down he's just like the rest of us."

"That sounds awfully classist," Alexander remarks.

"Oh, shut up." Mulligan leans back to admire his work. "Done. Now, I don't suppose you kept your contacts, did you?"

"Nope," Alexander confirms. He's about to mention the fact that he sold them in exchange for a ballpoint to a weird dude who slept in the subway with him from time to time, but then he thinks better of it.

"Why do I even get my hopes up," his friend bemoans. "Sunglasses it is, then. Laf should have some."

"Is it really necess..." Alexander begins to say, but Mulligan's glare answers his question before he can even get it all the way out. "Never mind, I'll go look for a pair."

"You do that." Before Alexander's out of the room, he shouts after him: "And really, don't worry about Burr, alright? I'm on the case!"

"Yeah, that's why I'm worried," Alexander mumbles back, making sure it's loud enough for Mulligan to hear.

Whatever his friend's reply is, he ignores it, choosing instead to focus his attention on not tripping into anything. Even without taking into account how much he likes the guy, he can't help being grateful to what astral conjunction made it so that he ended up rooming with Laurens – Mulligan and Lafayette's room is constantly turned upside down, clothes and books and magazines scattered all around the place, and Alexander could never live in such a mess. Well, he could, but he much prefers the spotless austerity of his and Laurens' room. No matter how cold and impersonal Mulligan and Lafayette say it is.

In the only lucky strike of the day, Alexander finds the sunglasses almost immediately – precariously perched on the edge of the mirror. Alexander makes to grab them and stops, distracted by his own reflection. He hasn't seen himself in make-up in weeks, and even then he didn't make for such a striking sight. Mulligan really did a great job on him: his skin is a natural, uniform gold, only slightly paler than his original color. And when he puts the sunglasses on, hiding his milky irises and pinprick pupils, he almost looks the way he did three years ago. He almost looks as if he were alive again.

Alexander turns away quickly, bothered by his own thoughts. Who cares what he looks like? He's not one of the living anymore, he's never going to be one of them again. That's not even the worst part, though.

The worst part is that for a second, he pretended he was, and it felt _good_.

 

Alexander has seen a lot of weird shit in his two lives. After all, he grew up in Alphabet City in the 90s. When the deadliest hurricane of the last fifty years hit, he was right in the middle of it. He once dated a girl who swore she could talk to angels. For god's sake, he was a _flesh-eating zombie_ for over a year.

None of these experiences prepared him for the surreal sight of Mulligan casually walking into a police station and being welcomed like a long lost son.

Apparently, his friend forgot to mention to him just how chummy he is with NYPD. Not that Alexander is complaining about the fact – they're admitted almost immediately, and the middle-aged cop they talk to seems quite enthusiastic about granting them the space and escort they need for their protest. Still, Alexander would have appreciated it if Mulligan had outright admitted that the reason he wanted him to look like a respectable citizen had more to do with his desire to impress his police buddies than with any real threat his make up-free face could have posed to the protest. Just in the spirit of honesty, you know?

Mulligan, of course, outright denies everything. "I must have seen those people twice at most," he swears as they walk back to the apartment. "You're just jealous because I'm so likable and you're not."

"Please. I'm adorable."

Mulligan snorts, cheerful. "Yeah, when you don't talk, maybe."

Alexander gives him a shove. "Shut up, Burr." He stops when they get to a crossroads. "Hey, do you mind if I catch up with you later? I was thinking of dropping by the Archive and saying hi to Angelica. I haven't seen her in a while." Two days, actually, but it feels like longer.

"Not at all," Mulligan says, a knowing grin on his face. "So are you guys ever gonna get it on, or is it all just talk?"

"It better not be," Alexander wishes, picturing Angelica's full lips and enticing curves. He's actually kinda glad of his Partially-Deceased condition for once, because he doesn't think he could withstand the prolonged torture of their courtship if he still had a pulse. "Then again, if there's a girl worth waiting for, it's definitely her."

His friend shakes his head. "Our Hams, always the sap," he teases. "Just do me a favor and bang her already, okay? I want to hear about real action, not your gooey feelings for her."

"I'll do my best," Alexander laughs, and they go their separate ways.

There's something different about the Archive, Alexander realizes the moment he steps into the place. He can't quite put his finger on what it is though. The place is empty, which isn't that uncommon for 11 AM, and maybe a little too clean, but that is hardly enough to explain the strange feeling of disorientation that comes over him as he walks to the bar.

Then he notices the little figure at the piano in the corner, and it hits him. Angelica only plays two kinds of music at her club: obscure, weird anti-folk during the day and badass female vocalists at night. Live classical music is a striking change of pace – all the more so because it looks like the performer is just a little kid. A PDS kid, Alexander realizes when he's close enough to take in the unnatural, way too uniform color of his skin, the strenuous dance of his fingers on the keys, the mop of dark hair that keeps falling into his pale eyes. He makes for such an endearing picture, and Alexander can't help stopping in his tracks to look at him, a little smile pulling at his lips.

He gets busted within twenty seconds. "Oh!" the kid exclaims, snatching his hands away from the keys as if they just scorched him. "I'm so sorry, sir."

Alexander gives him a half amused, half puzzled look. "About what?"

"I didn't mean to bother you, I swear. I just didn't see you," he claims, and he looks so apologetic that Alexander can't help rushing to reassure him.

"Hey, it's okay. You didn't bother me at all."

"Mom says it bothers the clients when I play and I should only do it when no one's around," the kid tells him.

"Well, I'm not one of those grouchy clients," Alexander dismisses his concerns. "Actually, I was enjoying listening to you play."

The boy preens under the compliment. "Really?"

"Really." Alexander takes a step closer to him. "Vivaldi's _Spring_ , right?"

"Yep," the kid confirms. "I'm not very good at it yet, though. I only started learning it this week."

"You sounded pretty good to me," Alexander says. Then he wonders: "What's your favorite song to play?"

"Mm... Probably Debussy's _Clair de Lune_. But the one I can play best is _Jupiter The Bringer Of Jollity_ , by Holst." A shy smile begins to appear on the little face. "You wanna hear it?"

"You can bet your skinny little arms I do," Alexander accepts, winking, and his enthusiasm is rewarded by the hesitant smile growing into a full-fledged grin.

He leans against the piano as the kid starts playing. The execution still isn't perfect – slightly clunky, with a few mistakes here and there that are quite evident even to Alexander's unpracticed ear, but the boy's energy more than makes up for his lack of a more refined technique and it isn't long before Alexander is bobbing his head to the rhythm. It seems to boost the kid's confidence, because he smiles and his fingers get more and more self-assured on the keys.

Only a few minutes into the song does Alexander look up and notice Angelica. She's sitting on the counter, swinging her legs back and forth. Next to her is a nice-looking young woman Alexander has never seen before – long dark hair, high cheekbones, and eyes you can't easily look away from. Both girls are staring at Alexander and the boy with very different but equally undecipherable expressions, and Alexander almost feels self-conscious. He tries to hide his discomfort by giving them his best seductive smirk.

It works, sort of. Angelica shakes her head, amused, and diverts her eyes from him, while the other woman turns to give her a puzzled look. She's probably wondering who the weird guy trying to flirt with two girls at the exact same time is – unless Angelica has already mentioned him to her and depicted him as a heart-robbing scoundrel. Alexander is looking forward to be formally introduced and prove her exactly right.

The kid jumps in his stool when he gets to the end of the song and a round of applause explodes behind him.

"Mom!" he complains. "You scared me!"

The new girl smiles meekly at him. "I'm sorry, Philly. I just couldn't help myself, that was amazing."

"Truly," Alexander agrees. "Thanks for letting me listen to you. The clients who don't want you playing are missing out, if you ask me."

The praise is enough for the boy to forget his indignation. His eyes are radiant as he says: "It was my pleasure. You're a cool client, sir."

Turns out Alexander appreciates compliments too. He offers the kid his fist to bump, and feels something warm in his chest when he laughs and plays along. He's always liked children, but it's been years since he's been around one long enough to have anything resembling a conversation with them. He hadn't realized how much he missed it.

"Well this is something I never would have expected," Angelica comments as she jumps off the counter, a mischievous little smile curling the side of her mouth. "Alexander Hamilton is actually good with kids."

"Darling, you'd save yourself a lot of trouble if you just assumed that I'm good at everything. It isn't that far from the truth, after all," he replies, cocky.

"It very well may be," the new girl interjects. "But your manners do leave something to be desired. Or are you too shy to introduce yourself and waiting for Angie to do it for you?"

The tone is playful, almost coquettish, and Alexander takes an instant liking to her. It's not really surprising – he's always had a thing for women who don't mind taking the initiative. Bonus points if they're as pretty as the one in front of him.

"You're perfectly right, I'm sorry. I'm Alexander, a friend of Angelica's."

"Let's say a client with benefits," Angelica puts him in his place. "It's not like we ever hang out outside of here."

"You know all you have to do is say the word. We can be out of here in ten seconds and you can tell me all about those benefits."

"Ten seconds, really?" Angelica asks in mock disbelief. "Dang. If I'd known you were so eager to please, I would have taken advantage of you way sooner."

"Please, feel free to take advantage of me whenever you like," Alexander quips back, his flirtatious tone and wiggling brows making the double meaning unmistakeable to anyone.

Well, almost.

"What does that mean, _take advantage of you_?" the kid wants to know.

If ever there was a good moment for the earth to open up and swallow him, Alexander thinks, this is it. He can't believe he let himself get so carried away with his usual flirting that he forgot about the little boy's presence. Even the fact that Angelica looks as embarrassed as he feels isn't enough to make things better – although admittedly, her panicked blush and mouthed _sorry_ to the other girl do make him feel less alone in his carelessness.

Lucky for the both of them, Angelica's friend decides to handle the situation before they get the chance to make it worse.

"Nothing, Philly, your aunt and her friend are just being dorks," she dismisses them. Then she quickly changes the subject: "Why don't you leave them be and take the time we've got to practice a little more? We have to go soon."

"But we just got here!" the kid protests.

"I know, but you know we can't be too late to the store if we hope to find some of the good peanut butter left."

That seems to do the trick. "Mm, okay," he accepts, and goes back to his _Four Seasons_.

The two girls take a few steps away from the piano, probably in an attempt to shelter the kid from more inappropriate comments. Alexander would follow them if he didn't feel bad about deserting the boy – Philip, his name should be?

In any case, he doesn't have much time to struggle with his dilemma.

"No, you have to go away!" Philip urges him, and he actually pushes him away. "I still suck at playing this. You can't hear it until I can do it perfectly."

"Okay, okay," Alexander backs off, doing his best to hide the affectionate smile he feels pulling at his lips. He can definitely relate to the boy's desire to only show himself at his best in front of an audience. "But the second you're satisfied with how you can play it you give me a call and let me hear it, deal?"

"Deal," the kid accepts, serious, and Alexander leaves him to his solitary practice to join the two young women at the counter.

"I'm so, so sorry," Angelica is telling the other girl.

She shrugs. "It's alright. This is your place, I can't expect you to police everything that gets said in here whenever I bring Philip around."

"But it's supposed to be _our_ place now," Angelica insists. "You should be able to come here and do your thing without worrying about me and my idiot friends traumatizing your kid."

"Yeah, the idiot friend wants to apologize too," Alexander steps in, because Angelica doesn't deserve to take all the blame.

The other woman gives him a forgiving smile before going back to argue with Angelica: "Don't be so dramatic, you guys joking around is hardly the worst thing he's had to witness. And this is a bar, not a playground. If anyone's out of place in here, it's him."

"Well, I'm still sorry," Angelica declares, almost defiant.

"I know," the other girl says, smiling at her in the warm, tender way that's reserved for people you've known forever – siblings, children, spouses. "And I love you for that."

And that's when it finally clicks for Alexander. Angelica said that Philip is the girl's kid and the girl called Angelica his aunt. Which can only mean...

"Wait. Are you Eliza?" he asks the new girl.

"God, I can't believe I forgot to introduce myself!" she exclaims, clapping a hand to her mouth. "That's embarrassing. Especially considering that I called you out on the very same thing no longer than five minutes ago." She recomposes herself. "But yes, I am. I assume Angie told you about me?"

Alexander nods in affirmation. "So you two are sisters," he says slowly, looking from one girl to the other in an attempt to reconcile Angelica's sharp features, dark skin and torn black jeans with Eliza's round cheeks, porcelain skin and colorful skirt. Obviously there's a story there. "Sisters," he emphasizes.

Angelica raises an eyebrow. "You got a problem with that?"

"I'm sorry, it's just..." Alexander shakes his head. God, he's making a fool of himself. "Well, when you told me your sister was coming home I imagined she'd be, you know..."

"African-American?" Eliza asks. Her voice is amused but kind, and it gives Alexander the confidence to get back on track.

"A little," he admits. "Which I realize was a very stupid mistake since I've already met Peggy."

"Don't worry, everyone's always a little stumped when they see us," Eliza reveals. "It's understandable. We do have a bit of a complicated family history."

"Not that complicated," Angelica protests. "My mom married Eliza's dad when I was 12 and Eliza was 11, and they had Peggy short afterwards."

Alexander nods. "Got it. So you two are not blood-related?"

"Technically no, but we're still family so you better not mess with Eliza or I'll kick your ass," Angelica playfully threatens him, hugging Eliza to her side.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Alexander promises.

"Good," Eliza sighs. "There's enough people messing with us as it is."

He frowns. "What do you mean, what happened?"

"Nothing I can't handle, don't worry," Angelica tries to dismiss his concerns. Alexander isn't going to relent that easily, though, and she must know it because it only takes him a few seconds of intense staring to get her to confess: "It's the bar. It got vandalized last night."

"Vandalized?" Alexander repeats, incredulous. He knows their block is considered the wrong side of the tracks, but he never would have imagined that anyone might have a bone to pick with Angelica of all people.

"Yeah. Someone got in after closing time and spray-painted dumb shit all over the walls and tables."

"God. What kind of asshole would do that?"

"Who do you think?" she asks, bitter, and runs a hand on the smooth surface of the counter. Following her movement with his eyes, Alexander notices something. It's been scrubbed away almost completely, but with some effort it's still possible to read the single word that was painted over the bar. _Necrophilliac_.

He rolls his eyes. "Geez. You want to use big menacing words, at least learn to spell them right."

"Right? Honestly, the blatant ignorance is even more insulting than the actual slur," Angelica scoffs. "It was all stuff along the same lines. Stiff-hugger. Deadnik. Corpse Bride, which I found especially inspired. Took us all morning to get rid of it."

"And you're sure it has nothing to do with me?" Eliza asks, a remorseful blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Positive," Angelica shuts her off in her most effective no shit tone. "No one around here knows about Jimmy. It was just some butthurt losers who want everyone to adhere to their segregating ways. If they think some petty vandalism is going to scare _me_ , though, they're gonna be disappointed."

There's a fierce light in her eyes, and Alexander is more than a little bit in love with it. "What do you have in mind?" he asks, because it's Angelica. Of course she already has a plan.

"New Year's Eve is in four days," she reminds him. "We're gonna throw a huge party right here – you're invited, by the way, and so are your roommates. Make sure you all make it, PDS patrons drink for free until midnight."

Inviting as that sounds, Alexander can't help worrying about Angelica. "You sure that's a good idea?"

She shrugs. "Hey, if they're going to harass me for giving PDS sufferers a special treatment, at least let's give them a good reason to do it."

"I was more worried about Laf and Mulligan drinking this place dry, actually," Alexander clarifies.

Angelica laughs. "That's the idea, darling. It's New Year's!"

"Will you be there, then?" Eliza asks, almost expectant.

Well. Who is Alexander to say no to two gorgeous women?


	7. In which Alexander strikes out (part one)

" _It should be obvious to anyone that making a group of people 'pay back' a so-called debt they contracted when they had no control over their actions by forcing them to work for free for an undetermined period of time is the worst kind of violation of human rights, a discrimination the likes of which we haven't seen in our country since the Jim Crow laws. Let's review the facts._ _In the three months since such measures_... You're still not convinced." Laurens interrupts his re-reading and sags against the wall in defeat.

Alexander shakes his head. "No, I like it. It's just that line... _Let's review the facts_. It's way too weak to introduce our main point of argument."

"Mm, you're right," Laurens readily accepts his criticism. He nibbles on his thumb nail, pensive. "How about, _But since your sense of justice is obviously crooked and conveniently biased, let's set morals aside and focus on the facts, shall we?_ " he suggests after a while. "It carries more punch."

Alexander brightens. "Perfect."

He can't help smiling in satisfaction as he watches Laurens type the new opening into his laptop. In the last ten days, the two of them have written the speech for the protest and finished Alexander's article on PDS discrimination on the workplace, and now they're finally getting around to trashing Charles Lee on his sorry excuse for a "Free Political Blog", something Alexander has been postponing for way too long. They're on fire.

Best part of all this? Not only did he and Laurens not fight a single time while working together (suck it, Mulligan), they've been having _fun_ with it. That's never happened to Alexander before. Oh, you could ask anyone who has talked to him for more than ten minutes and they'd all tell you the same thing – _of course_ he enjoys writing, he practically lives for it, haven't you noticed how he's always bringing up his work in conversations? Or how he can stay holed up in his room for days when he's really into a project? And yeah, it is true for the most part. Writing is what he does. What he's always done.

He's never really considered it enjoyable, though. He doesn't write for pleasure, he writes because he's great at it and because he can't help it. Because it's his way to cope with the shit the world loves to throw at him, and the most effective way he's found to take control of any situation. Up until these last few days, writing has been something tedious, cathartic, absorbing, unavoidable, even empowering at times. Never fun.

Of course, Laurens being Laurens, he had to go and change that. Alexander isn't even ashamed to admit that he could spend the rest of eternity sitting on his best friend's bed with him, fighting the good fight with the metaphorical pen, and he'd be perfectly content. That's a terrifying prospect for someone who's spent his whole life unsatisfied with where he was and what he was doing.

"Yo, you even listening to me?" Laurens interrupts his musings.

Alexander shakes himself. "Yeah! Well, no," he admits a split second later, because it's obvious he isn't fooling his friend. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Laurens sighs dramatically. "You know what, I don't care how wasted you get at Angie's tonight, tomorrow you're gettin' up bright and early to go get some glasses. I'm tired of reading for your unappreciative ears."

"I do _not_ need glasses," Alexander protests, all the more indignant because he knows Laurens is right.

"You so do."

"I don't!"

"Fine," Laurens challenges him, "read what I'm writing right now and I'll apologize for even suggesting such a thing. Uh-huh, no cheating!" he complains when Alexander subtly tries to lean back to put the laptop screen into better focus. "I want you up here and close."

"You know you don't need to resort to such silly ploys to get that, don't you? All you have to do is ask," Alexander teases, giving him a sly grin, but he lets his friend push the laptop right in front of him. Shit, he really does need to get his eyes checked, he realizes as he stares as the blurry mess on the screen. "Al... exander Hamilton," he makes out, more a deduction than anything. He squints, and the words finally come into focus. Well, more or less. "... is as blind as a... stubborn bat. Ha ha," he grumbles, punching Laurens in the shoulder.

"Mm, better than I thought," he admits. "You should still see a doctor, though."

"Is that supposed to be a pick up line?" Alexander quips. "'I strongly recommend you start seeing a doctor. I happen to be a doctor and I'm available, by the way'. Wink wink."

"I'm serious, Alexander," Laurens says, and he really is if he's using Alexander's first name.

"Alright, I'll go," he caves. "For you." His friend's frown deepens for some reason, and Alexander can't take it any longer. "Okay, what's up with you today? Are you really that worried about my inevitable descent into blindness?"

Laurens snorts. "Of course not. You'll be fine as long as you stop acting like a self-conscious teen and get a friggin' pair of glasses."

 "What is it, then?" Alexander wants to know.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" Laurens answers with another question.

Alexander doesn't even need to think about it. "Sure. Anything you need."

His roommate smiles weakly at his eagerness. "Even if it's stupid and pointless and will make me look like kind of a jerk?"

"For god's sake, Laurens, spit it out."

He hesitates only for one more second before spilling: "Can you kick it down a few notches tonight at Angie's?"

Alexander narrows his eyes and tilts his head in confusion. "Kick what down?"

For the first time since they've met, Laurens seems to be at loss for words. "You know... You," he says in the end. Well, that was unhelpful. "The way you act, with the flirting and the touching and the dirty jokes."

"Oh come on, what touching?" Alexander protests. He's ready to confess to his inappropriate behavior when it comes to innuendos and flirting, but he would never violate the sanctity of someone else's personal space.

Laurens doesn't answer, just pointedly looks down to where Alexander's right hand is casually resting against his left thigh. Alexander withdraws it immediately.

"Fine," he gives in, trying not to show his annoyance. And hurt. If it bothers him so much, why on earth didn't Laurens say something before?

He must be doing a piss poor job at hiding his feelings, because Laurens rushes to reassure him: "Look, I'm sorry. I usually don't mind – I mean, I know that's how you are with everyone and it's fine. It's good. But this guy I've been seeing is going to be there and I..."

"Oooh. _This guy you've been seeing?_ " Alexander interrupts him, suddenly in a good mood again. If Laurens gets to police his behavior just because some guy is dropping by, the least he can expect is a generous amount of teasing about it. "How come I've never heard of him? How long has this been going on?"

Laurens shrugs. "Dunno. A couple weeks?"

"Really? And you're only introducing him to the family now?"

 "Nah, don't worry. It's not like that."

Alexander huffs – whether out of amusement or annoyance, he couldn't say himself. "It never is with you, is it?"

"I guess not," Laurens replies simply. Alexander waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

"So what, you think the boyfriend would feel threatened by me?" Alexander finally asks, and it's a joke. Mostly. He would be lying if he said he isn't a little pleased at the idea. "Am I the threatening type?"

"He is not my boyfriend," Laurens stresses out. "And in case you didn't notice, half the bar already thinks you and I are together. I don't want Benny thinking that the reason I want to keep things casual between us is that I have a live-in boyfriend he's never heard of."

"Got it. I'll try to back off then," Alexander promises, but he can't help looking at his friend from behind his lashes and add: "Though I'm not gonna lie, it's going to be hard."

"Fuck off," Laurens laughs. Then: "Thank you," he says sincerely, and it takes all of Alexander's willpower not to bump shoulders with him or throw an arm around his shoulders and ruffle his hair. God, it's gonna be a long night. His self-restraint has never been the best, and by now he and Laurens have such an easy relationship that it's going to be a bitch to remember to keep his distance all night. Then again, he doubts they'll be spending much time together if Laurens is planning on bringing along a boy toy. Damn Angelica and her dumb idea to open the party to just anyone.

He doesn't tell Laurens any of that, deciding to settle for a simpler, "Don't mention it" instead. They have more important things to discuss, after all. "Now, will you re-read our full reply to me? I promise I'll pay attention this time." He's quite proud of himself for biting his tongue before he has time to add, _Even though you're_ very _distracting_. Time to be serious.

Laurens nods in agreement and starts again from the top. " _I find it ironic in the most tragic way possible that a self-proclaimed 'freedom blogger' would even give Give Back programs the benefit of the doubt, let alone support them as strongly as you do in this post. It should be..._ "

"Change _strongly_ to _passionately_ ," Alexander suggests.

Laurens complies, and goes back to reading out loud. " _... let alone support them as passionately as you do in this post._ Yeah, I like it better," he approves. " _It should be obvious to anyone that making a group of people 'pay back' a so-called debt they contracted when they had no control over their actions by forcing them to work for free for an undetermined period of time is the worst kind of violation of human rights, a discrimination the likes of which we haven't seen in our country since the Jim Crow laws. But since your sense of justice is obviously crooked and conveniently biased, let's set morals aside and focus on the facts, shall we?_ _In the three months since such measures have been approved in the UK, the suicide rate for PDS sufferers in the country has increased by 14%. Almost a hundred people were taken back to treatment centers for refusing to take their medicine. And we can only imagine how much worse the consequences will be in our country, where a bill has just passed that only grants PDS sufferers free treatment and access to the medicine they need for nine months upon their dismissal from a treatment center. How do you expect American PDS sufferers to be able to afford their daily shot if on top of everything they're forced to work eight hours a day six days a week without earning a single dollar? Are their families (the living, hard-working American citizens you seem so set on defending) going to have to pay for their cures? Are we going to send them all back to the treatment centers and keep them there indefinitely – again, at the expenses of your precious tax payers? Or should we just let them revert to their rabid state and do more damage until some trigger-happy cop takes them down? The Give Back scheme is a travesty, an abomination, and it isn't going to help anyone, not even the selfish little racists who, much like yourself, think they're going to profit from it. If you really are the patriot you seem to pride yourself to be, you should abandon your populist approach all set on blaming and recriminating and admit that looking forward is the only way out of the harsh situation we're in._ And scene," Laurens concludes with a smile. "What do you say?"

"Yeah," Alexander decides after some thinking. "It's good. I kinda feel like he deserves to be insulted a little more, but I'm not sure opening with _Listen up, you racist fucker_ would fit with the tone of the rest of the comment."

Laurens laughs. "Well, consistency is overrated." At Alexander's raised eyebrow, he changes strategy. "Or we could add some profanities here and there so it wouldn't feel too out of place. _Listen up, you racist fucker_... And then I don't know, here: _your sense of justice is obviously_ a pile of shit... Oh, and, _Are their families going to have to pay for their_ fucking _cures?... If you really are the patriot you seem to pride yourself to be, you should_ suck my dick, _abandon your populist approach and..._ "

"Oh my god, stop it," Alexander tells him, bent in two with laughter. "Please post that thing before I let you change my mind."

"As you wish," Laurens yields, and publishes the comment as it is.

They're dissecting another horrific post on Lee's blog, this time about the moral imperative to take living children away from their PDS parents, or even better never even telling them that they came back, when there's a knock on the door.

"You guys decent?" Lafayette's voice asks.

"Nope, we're having filthy, disturbing, house rule-breaking sex, come back in an hour," Laurens deadpans, and Alexander would be annoyed that he gets to make these kinds of jokes if he wasn't too busy being proud of him for the comeback.

Predictably enough, the door swings open and Lafayette walks in. He's all set to go, his comfortable apartment clothes discarded in favor of tight dark jeans, coat and blue scarf, and he doesn't look the tiniest bit pleased with his roommates' state. "Oh, come on, you're not ready yet?" he whines. "We promised Angie we'd be there by 9."

"Why, what time is... Shit," Laurens curses, flipping the laptop shut and jumping to his feet. "I was supposed to be picking up Benny five minutes ago."

"Ooh. Looks like someone's sleeping on the couch tonight," Lafayette teases, and Alexander doesn't want to laugh because he knows his instinctive hostility to Laurens' fuck buddy is petty and childish, but he still does.

"Fuck you both," Laurens says, fumbling with his phone, and goes to the other room to try and salvage the situation.

Lafayette sighs longingly. "Ah, there's nothing quite the rush of having a single phone conversation to determine the future of a relationship."

"Are you really romanticizing a dumb lovers' quarrel?" Alexander asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Lafayette says a little too quickly. "Possibly. _Laisse-moi en paix_ , I haven't gone on a date in two months." He leans against the doorway and squints at Alexander. "So what did you do to him to make him forget his hot date?"

"Nothing," Alexander denies. "Don't get me wrong, I could make him forget even his own name if I wanted to, but that was not the case here. I just showed him Lee's blog."

"Of course you did," Laf says, resigned. "Can't you guys do something relaxed for once? I don't know, watch a movie, play Candy Crush?"

"Hey, you said it yourself. Lee deserves to go down."

"That doesn't mean you should single-handedly take it upon yourselves to destroy him. On New Year's Eve, no less."

Alexander scoffs. "What, you afraid he'll go jump off a building? He'd be doing everyone a favor, if you ask me."

"Don't be mean," Lafayette reprimands him, even though by now he should know it's pointless. "And I was referring to the fact that you're the first person Angelica invited to her party and she definitely wants you to be there, so maybe you should stop picking fights with uncultured idiots on the internet and focus on looking hot instead."

"I always look hot," Alexander grumbles, but he catches the drift and leaves Laurens' bed to get ready.

For all of Laf's fretting, they make it perfectly on time – Alexander, Mulligan and Lafayette, at least. Laurens has promised to catch up with them the second he patches things up with Benny and gets him to come all the way from Queens, so it might be a while. Oh well. He'll be missed, but the party can go on just fine without him, Alexander decides as he makes his way through the crowd to meet Angelica at the bar.

She seems to be the only person around who didn't take the event as an occasion to wear something fancier than her usual tank top and jeans, yet she still looks a hundred times prettier than any other girl in the room as she laughs loudly at something Eliza is telling her. Alexander really hopes that Laf is right, that tonight is the night for the two of them. As much as he enjoys their flirtatious bantering, it's been going on for almost three weeks (god, has it really been only three weeks? It definitely felt like longer) and he needs more.

"Well look who's here," she exclaims when Alexander and the others come close enough to hear her through the blaring music. "Always good to see your faces."

She's looking at him while she says it, and Alexander can't help smirking because it's on. It's so on. "Wait, you telling me you don't have a picture of me as your lock screen? I'm wounded," he quips.

"Of course I do, darling, but the real thing is so much better." She looks at all of them then, notices something. "Wait, now I get why this feels weird – I'm not used to only seeing three of you anymore. Where did you leave Laurens?"

Alexander makes a face. "Don't even mention him. He's dead to me tonight."

"Aww, did you and the boyfriend have a fight?" she teases.

That's Lafayette's cue to jump in, apparently. "Don't mind him. He's just jealous because Laurens has found himself a boy toy and is neglecting Alexander for him."

"Yeah right. If I remember correctly, he almost ditched said boy toy because he was having more fun hanging out with me," Alexander retorts. Then he realizes he isn't really helping his case. "I mean. Fuck off, I'm so not jealous."

"Well, whatever it is, it's cute on you," Angelica decides, and winks at him.

Alexander smiles, loving how she jumped on the first chance to go back to flirting. "Love what you've done with the place," he tells her. The Archive is usually quite dark, but just for tonight dozens of white, yellow and light blue paper lanterns have been hung on the walls and ceiling, their faint, almost dreamlike light giving the place a magical quality. Some of the tables have been pushed aside to make room for a dance floor in the middle of the club, and some of the younger guests are already dancing, wild with euphoria. Alexander smiles when he spots Philip among them, his movements a little rigid but still giving all he's got.

"Thanks, but that was all Eliza," Angelica reveals. "She and Philip spent all day getting the place ready."

"While Angelica slaved around the kitchen," Eliza points out, refusing to let her sister go without credit. "Have a canapé, they're delicious."

Alexander is looking at the tray she's offering him, trying to decide what to taste first, when Mulligan bypasses him to serve himself a generous amount of the food. "Mmm, you're right," he moans after swallowing the first one. "Even the cheese is good."

"That's not possible," Lafayette declares, stepping forward to have his own shot at the tray. He puts one in his mouth and his expression turns to one of such delight that Eliza bursts into laughter, shrill and fresh.

"That's the exact same face Philip made when we finally discovered this cheese," she recounts. "He says it's the only kind that doesn't taste like bird poop."

"He's a smart guy, this Philip," Lafayette decides. "Angelica, _ma chère_ , you need to start using this cheese for your sandwiches, it would improve them a great deal."

"Are you dissing my sandwiches?" she replies, unamused.

Lucky for Lafayette, that's when the indie rock song that was playing ends and P!atD's _Hurricane_ starts, and he embraces the chance to get out of a possibly messy situation. "Oh my god, I adore this song!" he exclaims, and he starts dragging Alexander and Mulligan to the dance floor with him. "Come dance with me!"

Alexander would rather stay by the bar with Angelica, but the night's still young and his friend is relentless. Besides, it's the first time he's seen Mulligan agreeing to dance without being drunk off his ass and he's kinda curious what that's going to look like.

As it turns out, his friends are much better dancers than he is. It's not that Alexander is bad at it, mind you, but it would be delusional of him to deny that their crazy moves and apparently effortless twirls are on a whole other level. Watching Mulligan is especially mesmerizing – tall and broad as he is, he somehow morphs into the most graceful creature on the dance floor. Alexander is not the type to get self-conscious and insecure around more skilled people, anyway, and he simply resolves to let his enthusiasm compensate for his lack of practice.

It's even easier than he thought, because Lafayette's euphoria is contagious. After the stress and melancholy of the last few days, it's good to finally see him enjoying himself again. His grin seems to get bigger every second he spends bouncing to the music, and Alexander can't help beaming back at him, letting the steady beat and electric atmosphere guide his steps on the dance floor.

At least until he's ambushed by two little arms clenching around his waist. "Alexander!" someone squeals with delight, and he doesn't need to look down to know who the rascal hugging him tight is.

"Hi, Philip," he smiles, giving the kid a pat on his back. "What you doing at this big grown-up party?"

Philip doesn't let go of him, but he does look up at him with something close to defiance. "I am not a little kid anymore, you know," he says, indignant, and Alexander has to stop himself from laughing because that tone is definitely something the boy has picked up from his aunt. "I'm almost twelve."

That's right. The boy doesn't look older than eight, nine at most, but he's PDS. Even though his growth came to an abrupt halt when he died, and he must have spent the better part of the last three years either six feet under or being pumped full of medication in some treatment center, technically he can claim to be a couple years older than he looks. Not that it changes anything – it's still weird to see a boy of twelve at a New Year's party with free, nonstop booze and songs about "setting all the zippers free". Alexander somehow feels the kid wouldn't appreciate him pointing it out, though. 

"You're right, I'm sorry," he tries to make peace. "I heard it's thanks to you that the bar looks so awesome tonight?"

Philip relaxes at the change of topic. "Yep," he confirms proudly, taking a step back to admire his work. "Well, and Mom's. She got all the lanterns while I was at the park with Aunt Peggy and then we hung them together. Oh, and I helped Aunt Jelly with the food, I came up with a lot of ideas for the canapés. They're so good, right?"

Alexander opens his mouth before knowing for sure what he's going to say – that he did have a canapé and it was indeed really good, or that Aunt Jelly is the best nickname he's ever heard and he wants permission to call Angelica that too. It's guaranteed to drive her crazy.

He doesn't get to say either, because a very distressed Peggy catches up with them and grabs Philip by the arm. "Phil, dammit, how many times have I told you not to run off on your own?" she scolds him. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

The kid looks down, sheepish. "Sorry, Aunt Peggy. I was just saying hi to my friend."

Only then does she seem to notice Alexander. "Oh, hello. You're Angie's friend, right? Alexander?"

He nods, pleased in spite of himself to be so readily linked to Angelica by no one other than her sister. "That's right."

"He's my friend too," Philip insists. "And I wanted to say hi."

Peggy sighs. "Well, give me a heads-up next time, will you? Your mom's going to kill me if I lose you."

"But I never get lost," Philip objects. "I know Aunt Jelly has to spend all her time at the bar, I can always go to her if I don't find you anymore."

The teenage girl is stumped by his logic for a second. "Okay, yes, but I'd rather you stayed close to me, alright? I promised your mom I'd stay with you and you know it's bad to break a promise."

That seems to finally convince the kid. "You're right. Sorry I got you worried."

"It's alright," Peggy accepts his apology. She turns to Alexander then, says: "Thanks for finding him. I hope he didn't pester you too much."

"He's the one who found me, actually," Alexander says. "And he didn't bother me at all, we're friends," he adds, winking to Philip.

Who smiles and tells his aunt, "Don't worry, Alexander is not one of the grouchy clients." Alexander is so surprised that he remembered his exact words from over a week ago that he bursts into laughter right there.

"Well, thank you anyway," Peggy smiles at him, always the well-mannered girl. Then, to Philip: "Why don't we go find your mom? I'm starving."

"Me too," the kid agrees. "Bye, Alexander!"

"See you around," he replies, and goes back to his friends.

"You have a secret child you forgot to mention to us?" Lafayette immediately wants to know, nodding in Philip and Peggy's direction without interrupting his dancing for a second.

Alexander probably shouldn't take him seriously, but he does. "That's Philip, Eliza's son," he explains. "I only met him for the first time a few days ago. Great kid," he adds, with an affectionate half-smile.

Something about his reply seems to hit a nerve with Lafayette. He stops moving to the rhythm and says sadly: "Oh my god, that's right. The poor thing."

"Why, what's up with him?" Alexander inquires, trying not to sound anxious. It's almost scary how much he cares about the kid's well-being after only seeing him twice. Schuyler's, he thinks affectionately – stealing people's hearts within seconds since 1903.

Lafayette makes a noncommittal gesture with his hand. "I don't know the details, but word on the street is that his father was killed during the Rising."

"Shit," Alexander says. He suspected Philip's dad wasn't in the picture anymore, but he thought his parents had simply gotten a divorce. Or never even got married in the first place – Eliza is way too young to have a 12-year-old son, she must have been careless and gotten pregnant in high school. He used to feel bad for the kid for growing up with no father, but having actually known and loved and lost him must be an even worse fate.

"Yeah," Lafayette agrees. "So be careful around him, he's probably looking for a replacement father figure."

"Please. I'm more of a cool older brother," Alexander makes light of it, because if he took his friend's words seriously he'd be freaking out right now. The last thing Philip needs is a stranger walking into his life and making things more confusing for him. And to be honest, the last thing _Alexander_ needs is to start feeling any sort of obligation to other people's children.

"So you don't have eyes on Eliza?" Lafayette wants to know, and he looks like he's actually serious. How did he jump to that conclusion after watching the two of them interact for .6 seconds, god only knows. 

"Eliza? Why would you say that?"

"Well, she's the only person I haven't seen you hit on, and since you usually hit on everyone she must be special for some reason."

"Shut up." Lafayette still doesn't look convinced, though, so he resolves to play his best card: "She's Angelica's sister, man. It would be weird."

"Yeah, 'cause you and Angelica are having so much action," Mulligan teases him, appearing out of nowhere.

"Do you just creep around people waiting for the right moment to pop out and make totally unnecessary comments on their sex life?" Alexander asks, annoyed and a little impressed. Mostly annoyed, though.

Mulligan shrugs. "Or lack thereof," he amends, cheeky.

Lafayette cackles and high fives him, and Alexander has to remind himself really hard that he actually loves these people. "I'm working on it, alright?" he says, defensive.

"Fine, _comme tu veux_ ," Lafayette finally relents. "Just, try not to get stuck in a weird triangle with step-sisters. No matter what you heard, it never leads to the threesome you secretly wish for."

"Speak for yourself," Mulligan boasts, and they go back to dancing.

Or at least they try to. Over the last half hour, though, more and more people have been entering the club – pretty much all PDS, Alexander notices, cliques of friends like his own and goth teens and the lunch-break workers and girls with cheap but really cute dresses. Most of them seem perfectly content sitting at the tables or the bar, chatting and laughing, but enough have swarmed the impromptu little dance floor that it's almost impossible to move without bumping against someone.

That's not the only reason Alexander isn't too happy with how many people have showed up, anyway. The line at the bar seems endless, with two more people coming to replace anyone who gets served. He really hopes Angelica thought this through, because as much as he trusts her to make much better business choices than he, he doesn't need to be a marketing genius to realize tonight is going to cost her a lot.

"Yo, I'm gonna hit the bar," Mulligan decides after the fourth barely-escaped clash against an overenthusiastic dancer. "You guys coming or do you consider this foreplay?"

"Nah, you're right, I'm out of here," Alexander agrees, glad to leave the thick of the fray.

Predictably, Lafayette is the one shaking his head. "Sorry lovelies, you go ahead. I can't leave right when they start playing my jam."

"You've said that about every damn song that's been played tonight," Mulligan objects, grabbing his friend by the arm and more or less forcibly dragging him away from the dance floor. Lafayette lets him, but doesn't stop complaining all the time they're standing in line for their drinks.

"There better be another Beyoncé song before this party ends, or my New Year's resolution will be to stop talking to you," he threatens.

"Well, knowing Angelica that shouldn't be a problem," Alexander reassures him. "I bet she's never closed the bar without playing all of _4_ at least twice during the night."

"That woman has good taste." Lafayette nods approvingly. "But I'm pretty sure Eliza's in charge of the music tonight, so who knows what we'll get."

"That's even better. Girl's so nice you could probably convince her to play you this shit on loop for the rest of the night," Mulligan points out. "Though on second thought, maybe she'll have mercy on our souls and tell you to fuck off."

Lafayette elbows him in the side. "Don't you dare diss the Queen. This song is the single greatest piece of music ever written. The day I discovered it I was three hours late to a friend's birthday party because I couldn't stop dancing to it long enough to get ready," he tells Alexander.

"It was my birthday party, FYI," Mulligan steps in, eager to share his side of the story, "and you were the one in charge of the booze."

"Oh yes, I remember that. It was back when we still lived together, the three of us," a voice interjects, and Alexander turns to see Aaron Burr taking a seat right behind him at the bar. It's almost jarring to see him without his trademark suit and tie, even in a place like this, but tonight he has discarded them in favor of a dark polo shirt. It suits him – makes him look younger. "Good old times," he reminisces, taking a sip from his whiskey.

"You filed like, sixteen complaints against us in less than two months," Mulligan reminds him.

"Fourteen," Burr corrects him, as if it made that much of a difference. "And you should thank me. Hadn't I done all I could to get transfered to a different apartment, you never would have been able to start offering shelter to every wayward soul that knocked at your door."

The way he says it, not smug or conceited but like it's a logical conclusion everyone should be able to get to, makes Alexander suspect he really believes it. 

Lafayette rolls his eyes. "Right. You obviously did that for entirely selfless reasons."

"I did not. I'm just saying, you should stop being bitter about my leaving since it turned out to be the best thing for you as well."

"Still doesn't change the fact that you tried to get us kicked out."

"I simply reported to administration every infringement of the rules that came to my notice," Burr says innocently. "You two just happened to be the perpetrators of most of them."

"Yeah, well, nobody likes a rat, Burr," Mulligan spits, and the confrontational tone immediately draws Angelica's attention.

"Guys, no bickering at my party," she admonishes them. "You want to be surly and resentful, you take it outside."

"Sorry, Angelica," Lafayette, Mulligan and Burr reply almost in unison, although Burr doesn't sound quite as contrite as the others. He probably doesn't even think he was at fault here.

They finally get their drinks and take three stools at the bar – next to Burr, which isn't exactly ideal seeing how tense things seem to be between him and Alexander's friends, but with the horde of people seizing the place tonight Alexander guesses they should consider themselves lucky they even found somewhere to sit. And at least that means he's close enough to Angelica to have some sort of conversation with her.

Because even with the loud music and the clients lining up to get their free drinks, she doesn't seem to have a problem keeping up with him. It's a gift of hers that Alexander has noticed before, but he thought with tonight's rush even she would crumble. He was wrong.

"So, you starting to work for Washington in three days, right?" she asks, without looking up from the Manhattan she's mixing. "You nervous?"

"Sure. I mean what if I don't memorize how he likes his coffee quickly enough? Or can't figure out how the copy machine works?" Alexander he asks in a puerile voice, tapping his index finger on his own pouted lips.

Instead of being put off by his disdainful reaction, Angelica laughs, bless her. "Sorry, I'd forgotten you're too smart for such menial occupations. But come on, you're working for one of the most brilliant minds of our time! That should be at least a little exciting."

"Preach," Lafayette says, raising his tumbler, but Alexander isn't convinced.

"It's not," he disagrees, "but it's okay. It's not an uphill climb if you start already at the top."

"Wow. You should put that on a motivational poster," Angelica teases him.

"See, you might think you're making fun of me but joke's actually on you, because your hero Washington has some in his office. Including one that says, _Wolves don't lose sleep over the opinions of sheep_. With a picture of some sleeping toy breed on it."

Angelica snorts in amusement. "Really?"

"It's ironic," Lafayette offers. "That's his actual dog in the picture. And it's meant more as an encouragement to the students anyway."

"Sure it is," Alexander says condescendingly, hugging his friend to his side.

For a while, it's good. They drink, and they laugh, and Laf and Burr and Mulligan actually start getting along the drunker they get, and Philip comes to fist-bump Alexander before letting Eliza take him home, and Angelica leans on the counter in front of Alexander to chat with him every time she catches a short break from the clients and he forgets everyone else exists.

It's still about an hour to midnight when Laurens finally shows up, boy toy in tow and already half-drunk. Well, that solves the big _Will they kiss and make up?_ cliffhanger. Though judging by the state of his friend's neck, Alexander suspects they went a little further than kissing.

"Yo losers, we're here!" Laurens announces, ignoring the line and going straight to the bar where his friends are sitting. "Let's get this party started!"

"The party started two hours ago," Angelica reminds him. "Where the hell have you been?"

The tone is stern, but Alexander doesn't miss the way her lips curl in a secretive smile as she turns and starts to make his usual. Neither does Laurens, apparently, because instead of letting the reproach intimidate him he just shrugs. "I'd say I'm sorry for being so late but it would be a lie. It was totally worth it."

He throws his non-boyfriend a suggestive glance, and Alexander hasn't thrown up sober since the treatment center but he thinks that might change real quick.

"Asshole," Lafayette says good-naturedly. "You could at least introduce your _super cute friend_ to us, you know."

"Right. Everyone, Benny. Benny, everyone," Laurens obliges in a haste. He seems way more interested in the drink Angelica has just set in front of him with a complicit wink.

"Don't strain yourself," Mulligan grumbles, and offers his hand to Benny, starts introducing himself since Laurens has made it pretty clear that he won't be of much help in that department.

Alexander makes nice too, because Benny looks a little lost in the middle of such a knit-close group of people he's never seen before and the memory of how that feels is still fresh in his mind. He can't help being a little disappointed in Laurens' taste, though. It's not that the guy isn't good-looking, he's just... forgettable. Tall, with big dark eyes and blond hair – the pale, washed-out shade of the Partially Deceased. Only the most superficial features catch the eye, because there isn't much else there. And Laurens is smart and smoking hot, he could do way better.

Still, it isn't Alexander's place to decide that. Especially considering that the two can't seem to keep their hands off each other – for whatever reason, Laurens is into the guy and what the hell is Alexander even doing, staring at them like a creep to catch some hint that he's not? What the fuck is wrong with him?

He's just about to start freaking out at himself when Mulligan announces: "Alright guys, since we're all finally together... I have news. And you better listen up because it's big." He makes sure all eyes are on him (even Burr's, because as much as the guy insists on trying to keep his distance from the group he just can't resist a good piece of gossip) before revealing: "I'm gonna be at WinterShow 2016."

" _C'est pas vrai_!" Lafayette is the first to exclaim. "I knew it! I knew you'd make it." 

"Yeah, congratulations, man," Alexander joins in.

Laurens throws his fist in the air with a triumphant yell and tries to hug him, which proves to be harder than it looks, what with Mulligan being perched on a bar stool and Laurens being more than a little unsteady on his feet.

"Pardon my ignorance, but what is WinterShow 2016?" Angelica wonders.

"It's the biggest fashion event of the winter season," Alexander fills her in. "Usually it's just, super famous designers plus a few underground newcomers showcasing their stuff, but this year there was a contest that opened the event to promising young artists still in school. And Mulligan applied ages ago, but... Wait though, are you telling me they only let you know today?" he asks, turning to Mulligan.

Who nods. "Afraid so. They live to make us suffer." He claps his hands together excitedly. "But who cares, I got in!"

"Was it the strapless blue dress? Or wait, no, the sequined jacket!" Lafayette tries to guess.

"The jacket," Mulligan confirms. Then he amends: "Well, not exactly. You remember the gloves that were supposed to go with the jacket?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Well, it's those."

"The gloves?"

"Yep."

"And nothing else?"

"Nope."

 "Oh." Lafayette is silent for a few seconds. "Well, _bon travail_. I knew you'd make it. _WinterShow 2016_ , man. I am so proud of you."

"Really. I'd offer you a celebratory round if drinks weren't already free tonight," Angelica jokes. Then she turns to Laurens: "For PDS clients only, mind you, so you'd better pace yourself."

"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him," Benny promises, and she smiles at him.

"I like this boy," she decides. "You should keep him around."

"Yeah, we'll see," Laurens threatens playfully, leaning in to kiss him. Alexander looks away.

He feels really tired all of a sudden. Not the kind of tiredness that makes you want to get under your bed covers and sleep for a whole week – on the contrary, Alexander thinks he's going to go mad if he doesn't _do_ something. Get into a car and drive fast and far, windshields down and radio turned all the way up. Pick a fight he has no chance of winning. Make out with someone wild and feisty.

His eyes automatically search for Angelica, the ebony smoothness of her shoulders, the cleft between her round breasts that peeks up just a little from her cleavage, the waterfall of tight braids he's been dying to run his fingers through. The way her hips move as she swings from one costumer to the other, always radiant and graceful. Always on top of her game. And Alexander... Alexander can't hold back anymore.

Earlier, when fantasizing about how the night might have gone for him and Angelica, he thought it'd be best to wait until after the midnight countdown, let most of the bar's clients go back to their homes or move their own party elsewhere, depending on age and inclination. Angelica would have finally taken a break then, and he could have led her somewhere no one would interrupt them and they could have talked and flirted and drunk and teased each other until he wouldn't be able to wait anymore and he'd finally kissed her.

He has no patience for any of that anymore, though. He can't stay another two, three hours without knowing whether their endless teasing is ever going to lead to something more. He wants to see Angelica's face as he leans in, bringing them closer than they've ever been, wants to hear her surprised gasp as their lips lock together for the first of – hopefully – many times. 

 He wants someone to kiss at midnight.

So when Angelica announces that they're out of beer and she'll be back serving the costumers the second she's gotten some more from the back, he jumps on the chance to offer his help. 

"I can manage," she turns him down at once. Then she must out the pieces together, because she smiles and adds: "You can come and keep me company, though."

"Sounds great," Alexander jumps on the offer.

He follows her to the small cellar where she stores the food and beverages, a dark little room chockfull of bottles of spirits and beer cans. The only source of illumination seems to be the tiny grated window that lets the light flow in from outside, and the air is thick with the scent of alcohol. Not exactly a rowboat on a lake at sunset, but Alexander has made do with way worse places. At least this one's clean and private. And there's something to be said for the romantic atmosphere of the light from the street reflecting on the colorful, various-shaped liquor bottles.

He knows Angelica can't see as well as he in the dark, though, so he asks: "Where's the light switch?"

Instead of answering, Angelica pulls him in and start kissing him, unabashed and hungry. Of course she would take the lead, who was he kidding? He shouldn't have expected any less from her.

Alexander isn't one to get upstaged, though. He recovers from the surprise in an instant and kisses her back as hard as he can, one of his hands moving a few stray braids away from her face and cupping her cheek, the other settling on her hip. He never missed being alive more, he muses as his nerve endings once again fail to convey the right sensations to him – the soft fabric of her tank top and the warmth of her skin underneath, her frantic hands still twisting his shirt. He can't feel any of that. Even Angelica's mouth doesn't really taste like anything.

It's a little demoralizing. Finally, he's getting what he wants, and it's not the way he wants it. At all. No wonder his player days came to an abrupt end after the Rising – casual encounters lose most of their appeal when they can't bring you any pleasure.

Still. Sex can be about so much more than just getting off. What he's doing here, with Angelica... it's about admiration and respect and connection, it's about intimacy, and he can appreciate that even as an unfeeling undead.

With that in mind he finally forces himself to relax and get back into it, but it's only a handful more seconds before Angelica pulls back as suddenly as she initiated the whole thing. "God," she murmurs, and if Alexander were just a tiny bit less confident he'd say he heard disgust in her voice. That's out of the question, though. His kissing technique has been known to satisfy even the fussiest costumers, and he hasn't been drinking so much that he's afraid of tasting like cheap PDS alcohol. 

So instead of getting paranoid or offended, he decides to focus on what Angelica needs. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asks.

"Nothing. I'm fine," she replies, and she looks on the verge of tears. Alexander finds himself wishing that it really were something as simple and stupid as his being a bad kisser, because seeing Angelica like this – upset, unsure, vulnerable even – is so much worse.

"Angelica, it's okay," he tries to reassure her. "You can talk to me."

The obvious concern in his voice must ignite something in her, because her fierceness is suddenly back. "Don't do that," she snaps, shrinking away from the comforting hand he put on her shoulder. "Just don't."

"Okay, you're seriously freaking me out. What's going on? What did I do wrong?" Alexander wants to know.

Angelica laughs, self-deprecating and all wrong, and Alexander realizes – it really was disgust in her voice before. It wasn't for him, though. It was for herself. "Nothing. You didn't do anything. _I'm_ the one who's wrong."

She takes a step away from him, in the direction of the door that leads out of the room and back into the real world. Alexander kinda wishes he was still there, slowly getting drunk on terrible booze while watching Laurens and Benny be obnoxious. Even that was better than seeing Angelica so uncharacteristically shaken.

He's not going to stand there and do nothing when she's in obvious distress, though. Especially since he knows he's responsible for it, in some way at least. "Wrong? What are you talking about? You're the best person I know," he says, and he means it. "You're strong and kind and resourceful and probably smarter than even me, even though I won't admit it in front of anyone else under pain of death," – she huffs in amusement at that, and Alexander feels a little lighter. Maybe he can fix whatever this is – "and you're so beautiful, Angelica, I've never..."

She doesn't want to hear any of that, though. Instead, she takes a step forward, head high and that uncharacteristic cocktail of shame and fear still in her eyes, and she cuts him off: "I'm gay."


	8. In which Alexander strikes out (part two)

Alexander forgets everything he was going to say. He stands there blinking in surprise, mouth still hanging half-open. He knows perfectly well what Angelica's words mean, but they sound so strange coming from her mouth, right now, that she might as well have told him she's his long-lost half-sister and she only figured it out now because kissing him feels as if she were kissing her brother.

It makes no sense. She's the one who started flirting with him the second they met, not the other way round. _She_ kissed _him_ tonight. How can she be gay?

Then it hits him. "And you were trying to use me to prove you're not," he says slowly. He didn't phrase it like a question but maybe he should have. He desperately wants Angelica to deny it, to offer another explanation. Sure there must be another explanation, one he just can't think about now because he's still too shell-shocked after the bomb she dropped on him.

But she nods, weakly, and he feels his heart break. "I'm sorry. It's not... I wasn't sure myself, I swear. Or well, maybe I just didn't want to admit it to myself. I mean, I didn't even tell Eliza, and she knows literally everything about me. I just wasn't ready, for any of it." She stops for a moment, gathers her thoughts before her already confused words turn into full-on rambling. "Look, you walked in that evening and I started hitting on you because that's what I do, I hit on people even when I have no intention of fucking them, ever, but you... You could keep up with everything I said. We agreed on so many things, and when we didn't, it was so much fun to argue about it. I love being around you, Alexander, and I love talking to you and for some reason I thought that meant..."

Her voice dies in her throat before she can finish the sentence, but Alexander doesn't need to hear more. He gets it. "So you thought you'd give it a shot, see if you weren't a square Kinsey scale 6 after all."

"Pretty much," Angelica confirms, shame deep in her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Alexander takes a deep breath. He wants to be mad at her, yell at her for leading him on, lying to him for weeks. Looking at her, though, he doesn't see a self-serving liar. He sees a grown woman who is outspoken and fearless, yet for some reason is terrified of admitting to anyone – even to herself – that she's not into guys at all. That's not something to condemn her for. If anything, it's something to pity her for, but if there's one thing Alexander is still sure of knowing about Angelica, it's that she's going to be even more hurt if he starts feeling sorry for her.

He just shrugs, then, says: "Don't be. You tried to see if things could work between us and they didn't. Happens all the time."

"Are you being nice to me?" she asks, incredulous and... something else. Accusatory, maybe, but that's absurd.

"I guess?" he hazards.

"Well, stop," Angelica requests. "You're making it worse."

Alexander chuckles. "That's my specialty." Then he risks adding: "You of all people should know, considering we've been married for such a long time before our overly dramatic divorce."

He half-expected her to get angry, or upset again, at his slipping into their old banter like nothing happened. Instead, she plays along: "Don't you go bringing that up! I still have nightmares about it." Then she smiles a bittersweet smile, says, "I'm glad we stayed friends, though," and Alexander knows exactly what she means.

"That makes it two of us," he agrees, "my dear friend."

Angelica looks like she could punch him for his cheesy choice of words, but she eventually goes for a hug instead. Alexander isn't complaining. He holds her tight, trying to convey in the hug all the love and acceptance he knows she won't stand to hear in words. He doesn't know if he succeeds, but his friend does look more like her old self when they separate.

"We should go back. Everyone's probably freaking out without their booze," she says, sniffing.

Alexander pretends not to hear it. "Can I catch up with you in a second?" he asks, because as much as he doesn't want Angelica to go back to the real world on her own, he needs a moment to regroup before he can put up with Mulligan and Lafayette's obligatory interrogation about whatever he did alone with Angelica for a good ten minutes.

"Sure." She looks at him like she wants to say something else, but whatever it was, she must think better of it. She nods once, more to herself than to Alexander, before grabbing a crate of beer with no apparent effort and walking away.

Alexander sags against the wall, sliding all the way down until he's sitting on the floor. Every bone in his body feels leaden. Now that the most important issue is resolved and Angelica knows he still loves her, he can go back to worry about minor problems – like the fact that the girl he's been fantasizing over for the last few weeks has just rejected him. He told Angelica he doesn't blame or resent her for it and it's true, but it doesn't change the fact that it really fucking hurts. He's never going to kiss her again, never going to get to ask her out on a first date. All the things they could do and they could be, the things he imagined and waited and hoped for... they will only ever live in his head.

It's not like they went through a divorce at all, he realizes, it's like one of them died all of a sudden.

He shouldn't think like that, he knows it. It's not helpful to him and not fair to Angelica, who's already got enough problems coming to terms with her sexuality without him making her feel like crap for it. Yet he can't help mourning the loss of something he never got to have in the first place.

He doesn't know how long he sits there feeling sorry for himself, but it must be longer than he thought if people deem it necessary to check if he's still alive. "Knock knock," a voice Alexander has come to know as well as his own comes from behind the door.

"Leave me alone," Alexander says. Dealing with his best friend's prying questions is the last thing he feels like doing right now.

Unfortunately for him, getting Laurens to do what you want is a nearly impossible task. All the more so when he's drunk. "That's no way to welcome a friend who's worried about you," he chides, walking in.

"I'm serious, Laurens," Alexander insists, but to no avail. He watches his friend help himself to two different bottles of beer from the cupboard and decides to try another strategy. "How did you even get in here? There's no way Angelica willingly gave you access to this much alcohol."

Laurens shrugs. "She didn't, but she's too upset to notice."

"Really? Is she okay?" Alexander asks, queasy with worry and guilt. He should have insisted they stayed in here longer, talk things out until he was completely sure Angelica was going to be fine. Or he should have gone with her, at least. He can't believe he let her face everyone's questions and judgement alone, what kind of terrible friend is he?

"Yeah, chill. She's with Eliza," Laurens reveals, moving his free hand in what is probably meant to be a dismissing gesture and almost dropping the beers on the floor in the process. He sits next to Alexander and starts working on opening the bottles before inquiring: "But seriously, man, what the hell happened? We thought you two were banging in here, not getting all emo and shit."

If Alexander was already weary of having to talk to the others, his roommate's total lack of sensitivity does nothing to improve his willingness to open up. "Fuck you, Laurens," he spits. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Why don't you tell me, then?" Laurens asks. His voice is softer – he must have realized how much of a jerk he's being. Not that it changes anything.

"'cause it's so not your business and you're pissing me off," Alexander shuts him off. "So. You can tell Laf to stop fretting and go back to sucking faces with your _non-boyfriend_ before he gets jealous."

"Laf didn't send me. He said I should give you space or something," Laurens confesses, setting one of the beer bottles next to Alexander.

He picks it up, but hesitates to drink from it. "Yeah, well, he's always been a lot wiser than you," he mutters.

Whether Laurens didn't hear him or simply decided to ignore him, Alexander couldn't say. "And I don't give a shit about Benny. I'm worried about you," he insists, and he sounds so genuine that Alexander feels his anger start to dissipate. He knows his friend cares about him, of course. Hell, the fact that he tore himself away from his wanton date because he noticed Alexander wasn't showing up and he wanted to check up on him is a pretty good testament of that.

He deserves at least a reassurance, Alexander decides. "There's nothing to worry about," he says. Laurens doesn't seem convinced. "It's true. It's just... Angelica and I, it's not happening."

Laurens nods, without looking him in the eye. Alexander can't help following the nervous dance of his thumb on the mouth of his bottle. "You sure?"

"Very much so," he confirms sadly.

"Like, not ever?"

"Nope."

"Good."

Alexander would smack Laurens if he could just convince himself that he heard him right. "Excuse me?!"

"Shit. Did I say that out loud?" Laurens makes a face. "Sorry. It sucks, of course, I know how much you like her. But I'm glad you didn't let the world of straight relationships suck you in."

"You know the whole point of my being bisexual is that you don't get to call me gay or straight depending on who I'm dating, right?" Alexander reminds him, a little annoyed. "And anyway, what's it to you?"

"Nothing, you're right. But... Well, Mulligan's straight and Lafayette hasn't been with a guy since he and I stopped sleeping together, so you're kind of my only hope not to end up the one lonely queer of the house."

"Again, queerness does not equal sleeping with guys."

"Yeah, you're right. Forget I said anything, I was being an idiot," Laurens admits.

It's a piss poor excuse for an explanation, but Alexander pretends to believe it. "So you were Laf's last guy?" he tries to change the subject to something lighter. "Is fucking you really so traumatizing?"

Laurens scoffs. "Please. If anything, I ruined him for everyone else."

"No offense, but I call bullshit."

"Ask Laf," Laurens challenges him. He leans closer then, puts a hand on Alexander's thigh. "Or even better, you can try for yourself," he offers jokingly, winking. When Alexander shifts his leg, looking away, he asks: "What?"

He shakes his head. "Not in the mood, Laurens."

"Yeah, alright. Sorry." He sits back, waits for Alexander to finally start drinking from his beer before daring to ask: "So what happened exactly?"

Alexander sighs, nervously picking at the label on his bottle. He can't tell anyone what happened, because it would mean outing Angelica and he has no right to do that. But he finds himself really wanting to talk to Laurens about it. He needs his friend's sympathy and reassurances.

So he stares at Laurens for a long moment before caving. "Do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Sure," he replies way too quickly.

"Really? Because Angelica is going to kill me if word gets out, and I'm..."

"Alexander, I promise," Laurens cuts him off. "I'd never do that to you." He frowns. "Or anyone, really. I can keep a secret."

Alexander takes a deep breath. The sooner he gets it out, the sooner he can stop feeling guilty. "Angelica is a lesbian," he reveals.

" _WHAT_?" Laurens asks, incredulous and way too loud.

"Shh, shut up!" Alexander smacks him on the shoulder. "Why, why did I ever think I could trust you?"

"No, you can. Really. I'm sorry," Laurens apologizes in a rush. "It's just, wow. That's... wow."

"Yeah."

"So what, you tried to kiss her and she threw up in your face?"

"She's the one who kissed me, actually," Alexander sets the record straight, before adding miserably: "Then she changed her mind."

"Ouch."

Alexander nods. "I think she only started coming to terms with it herself tonight," he adds, because he doesn't want to paint Angelica like a spoilt wishy-washy girl who enjoys toying with other people's feelings. That's pretty much the opposite of who she is. "I was like, her last shot at a guy before she had to accept that she's gay and there's nothing she can do about it."

"God, that sounds so awkward," Laurens groans.

Alexander can't repress a frustrated huff. "You sure you here to help? 'cause it feels like you're not even trying."

"Sorry," Laurens says for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. "Sorry, I know. I'm fucking wasted and I can't..." He doesn't finish the sentence, focusing back on Alexander instead. "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think?" Alexander answers with another question, a sad, resigned one. "It sucks. You know, it's one thing when a story ends because you screw things up, but I didn't even get a chance to try and make things work here. And then of course I feel like a terrible person for making this all about me when Angelica's the one who's going through something huge. And I... I'm scared." Laurens looks at him curiously at that, like it's something he didn't think he'd ever hear Alexander say. So he elaborates: "I already lost a part of her tonight, and I'm terrified we won't survive this. That we'll just drift apart."

 "That's not happening," Laurens declares, and his tone is so definitive that Alexander can't help rolling his eyes.

"And you can say that for sure because you're the expert on befriending closeted lesbians."

"Hey, I might not be an expert but I definitely know what it means not to be sure whether you're 100% gay," Laurens counters. "To wonder if that person you love being around can be more than just a friend even though you're usually not interested in their gender."

Alexander blinks, puts the pieces together. "Are you telling me you went out with a girl?"

Laurens makes an affirmative noise, smiling at the surprise in his voice. "Mary Manning, back in high school. We'd been best friends since 7th grade and she was real pretty so I thought she could be the one. You know, if I had to make my folks happy and go for a girl. But it still felt so wrong and smothering and after a while I..." He drifts off, shakes his head, finally goes with: "I needed to end that. So I told her the truth – I loved her, but I was as straight as a rainbow slinky and even she couldn't steer me on the right path."

"And did you manage to stay friends after that?" Alexander needs to know.

"She outed me to half the town by spray-painting _Lying Fag_ on the door of my house and I set her car on fire to retaliate," Laurens reminisces. "So I'd say no, not really."

"Shit." Alexander feels himself deflate. "See, and you'd been friends for years. I've known Angelica for like three weeks, and it hardly even qualifies as a friendship since I've been wanting more with her all this time. We got no chance."

"Oh, come on. We were stupid hormonal teenagers. You and Angelica are nothing like us," Laurens argues. "You'll work things out, I'm sure."

Alexander looks at him, at the confident fire in his eyes, and knows he means it. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Laurens says, and throws an arm around Alexander, kisses him on the cheek.

Alexander doesn't mind anymore – it's comforting, actually. But he can't resist a dig at him: "What happened to your hands-off policy? Aren't you afraid the boyfriend is going to get upset?"

"He's not my boyfriend and he's not here," Laurens points out, snuggling closer so that he can rest his head on Alexander's shoulder.

"Yeah," Alexander agrees, and for a moment he's tempted to follow Laurens' lead, lean against his friend and fall asleep with him here. Maybe it'll help him forget this terrible night for a while. Then he shakes himself. "Where _is_ he, by the way?"

Laurens has to think about it. "Last I saw him he was somewhere at the bar, discussing the reliability of weather forecast with Burr." He closes his eyes, makes a pained noise. "God, he's so boring. Why do I keep hooking up with boring guys?"

Alexander sniggers. There's something selfishly relieving in knowing even the guy who was acting all lovey-dovey just a half-hour ago is far from having a satisfying relationship. He can't let Laurens win the self-pity contest, though, not tonight, so he counters: "At least you're hooking up at all. You know how long it's been since I've gotten any action?"

"Well, you kissed me a couple weeks ago," Laurens reminds him, and Alexander can't quite see his face but that's definitely his smug voice.

He scoffs. "No offense, but a drunken revenge kiss hardly counts as action."

"Hey, if you want more, all you gotta do is ask," Laurens invites, still not looking at Alexander, and it kinda freaks Alexander out how much he doesn't sound like he's joking. He must be, though, right? They've been playing this game since day one, Laurens and Lafayette and he. Hell, they've even dragged Mulligan into it from time to time. They're always making playful advances to each other, and it never means that they would or should cross any line into something more.

But maybe it's because of what just happened with Angelica, or because another year has gone by without Alexander making any progress on the dating front, or because seeing Laurens with Benny was more upsetting than he thought – whatever it is, he finds himself entertaining the notion for a strange, crazy second. Thinking back to their previous interactions, looking for some evidence that his friend might like him as, well, more than a friend. Wondering how he'd react if Alexander were to grab a gentle hold of his chin, tilt his head up until he's meeting Alexander's eyes and Alexander can get access to his mouth, lean in and kiss him again. For real this time, though. Long and slow. Or rushed and eager and intense like everything they do. Maybe it wouldn't feel as off as his first kiss with Angelica – knowing Laurens, he probably came up with some kind of genius way to grant PDS sufferers the full kissing experience. Alexander remembers the feel of Laurens' fingers against his all too well. He's been going back to that moment a lot lately, actually.

Shit. He needs to stop, right now, or he's gonna act impulsively and make some stupid heartbroken mistake and lose another friend tonight.

"Let's go," he forces himself to say.

"Where?" Laurens asks, finally pulling back so that his eyes can meet Alexander's, and yeah, they absolutely need to get out of here. Because Alexander has done such a good job at convincing himself that now he could swear there's an expectant light in his friend's eyes – almost as if he were hoping Alexander will drag him back to their room and have his way with him right now, everyone and everything else be damned.

Thank god he still retains enough of his sanity to know how delusional that sounds. 

"Back to the others," he offers, standing up. "It's almost midnight anyway."

Laurens nods, stumbles back to his feet. God, he's in an even worse shape than Alexander realized. He can't believe he almost considered taking advantage of him in this state. In the end, Alexander takes pity on him and lets him lean against him, and together they walk out.

Things have quieted down a little when they get back to the main room. The place is still full, but most of the patrons are contenting themselves with sitting down and chatting, only a few persistent souls still shaking to the music. Mostly, everyone looks like they're waiting for the midnight toast before they start really drinking again.

Angelica is sitting at a table in the corner closest to the bar with Eliza and Peggy, who look like they're doing their best to comfort her – holding her hand and hugging her and most likely commenting on how all men are scum and women are better off without them anyway. Alexander doesn't usually agree with such clichés, but tonight he feels so guilty that he's willing to concede that there's some merit to the first statement and that the second is definitely, undeniably true.

The real shock, though, is seeing who's standing behind the counter. It makes sense that Angelica would ask someone to replace her while she and Eliza are taking a break, but she must be more upset than she let show if she's exhibiting such poor judgement.

"Look who's finally back!" Lafayette exclaims when Alexander and Laurens approach the bar, and rushes to make them both a drink. "You made us worry."

"Oh, come on, it hasn't been that long," Alexander protests.

Burr raises an eyebrow. "We were debating whether to send someone else after you two or give you up for dead and forever remember to steer clear of the Cellar of Doom."

Laurens gives him an overly enthusiastic pat on the back. "Nah, don't worry man. Cellar's great. We just got, uh, a little distracted, if you know what I mean," he says, winking.

"Nice," Benny reacts, hurt. Alexander hadn't even noticed he was still around, but of course he is. Where else was he supposed to go? "That's great, I'm glad you're finally having fun here."

He starts walking away, and Laurens mutters a " _Shit"_ and runs after him, some stupid insincere apology already on his lips. Alexander watches them sadly, and for the first time tonight he's actually kinda glad he's alone and doesn't have to deal with any of that crap.

Laf seems to agree with him. "Couples," he mutters with a hint of exasperation. He sets two glasses in front of Alexander before carrying on: "Oh well, guess you get to drink both of these babies up."

After the night he's had, Alexander doesn't need to be told twice. "What are you guys even doing serving drinks?" he asks after he's taken a long gulp of the colorful cocktail, gesturing between Lafayette and Mulligan. "Isn't it like putting the wolves in charge of the flock?"

"Ha!" Lafayette huffs out, indignant. "I'll have you know, I was a top bartender back in Paris. And as for Mulligan, well... _Soyons honnêtes_ , nobody wants to know where and why he picked up any of his improbable skills."

Instead of getting offended or elaborating, Mulligan grins threateningly. "Damn right. But you better not doubt 'em, 'cause you'll only end up looking like a fool."

Alexander throws up his hands in mock surrender. "Well, if that's the case, I apologize for my lack of faith."

His friends exchange a complicit glance. "I guess we can let it go," Lafayette says in the end.

"Yeah, just this once," Mulligan agrees. "We take our professionalism very seriously."

"Got it."

"Hey, professionals, shouldn't you be getting ready for the countdown?" Burr interjects, nodding to the clock on the wall. There's only a few minutes left to midnight.

"Shit," Mulligan curses under his breath, rushing to kill the music just as Lafayette jumps on the counter, with no apparent effort and so suddenly that Burr visibly startles. Alexander finds it just as unexpected, but can't help grinning smugly. It's not every day that you get to see Burr lose his composure.

"Alright guys, listen up!" Lafayette gathers everyone's attention. "2015's coming to an end, so you better say your _adieux_ fast. I know it's been a pretty big year for everyone here, and I know there's definitely been some setbacks and disappointments and even tragedies, big or small," – he grabs the champagne bottle Angelica fetched for him with a grateful nod – "but remember, last year most of the people you see here tonight weren't celebrating at all. They couldn't. _Tout d'abord_ , my dear friend Mulligan was strapped to a bed in a treatment center," he notes, tipping the bottle in his direction. Mulligan nods, more serious than Alexander has seen him all night. "And as for myself, I was still dragging my sorry carcass somewhere around Lexington and 54th Street, without even knowing what day it was," Lafayette carries on. He looks at the people surrounding him, and even though Alexander knows perfectly well that it's impossible, he could swear there are happy tears in his eyes. "But tonight, we're here and we're a family. Each and every one of us has at least this much to be grateful for. Although, I suggest you also remember to be grateful for our Angelica, who made this night happen for all of us."

" _Whooo!_ " Laurens shouts, materializing next to Alexander and clapping furiously. Everyone follows suit within a few seconds, and the club is positively shaking with cheers and applause for the owner.

Angelica shakes her head and mutters, always the cynic, "The power of free booze," but then she has to turn and dry a moved tear from her eye.

"Twenty seconds, guys," Mulligan warns Lafayette.

"Care to do the honors?" he asks, offering the bottle to Angelica, but she shakes her head.

"You go ahead. You're being a much better host than me tonight."

" _C'est de conneries_ ," Lafayette protests, but doesn't pressure her further.

It's Laurens' turn to jump on the bar then, although at least he contents himself with sitting on it. Wise choice, considering how unstable he is on his feet. "Come on guys, all together!" he encourages the crowd. "10 seconds! 9!... 8!...7!..."

More and more people join in, Alexander included, until Laurens' voice is drown out by dozens of others, so loud and jumbled that it's almost impossible to keep track of the countdown. It doesn't matter. They're _so many_ and they're here and right now, they're all one. Whatever the next year decides to throw at them, they're ready.

There's a roar when Lafayette pops the champagne, everyone cheering and hugging and wishing each other the best year they can possibly have. Laurens jumps down the counter to throw his arms around Alexander, and Alexander is so pumped by the general excitement that he isn't even annoyed when he ditches him three seconds later to go make out with Benny. Besides, he would hardly have the time to be annoyed, because he's the first person Angelica hugs after her sisters and it's hard to worry about Laurens with her form pressed against him.

"Happy New Year, Alexander!" she has to shout in his ear to overcome all the noise.

"Happy New Year!" he shouts back, and holds her tight. Maybe Laurens is right, he thinks. Maybe they'll work things out. Alexander is ready to fight for it, that's for sure.

Little by little, most of the bar's clientele starts clearing out. Alexander doesn't mind – while it's been exciting to be surrounded by so many people, to feel like a part of something so big, now that he's getting more tired he's all for kicking back and hanging with just his friends. He's had his fair share of thrills for tonight – he thinks he's good.

Apparently, Angelica isn't of the same opinion, because she props herself up on the counter and starts speaking. "Guys, I promise I'll let you get back to your celebrations soon, but I'd like to say a few words." A dozen heads or so turn to her, and she carries on: "As some of you might know, I wasn't planning on throwing a big party for New Year's this year. I just thought I'd be with my sisters, hit the clubs myself for once. I changed my mind when someone vandalized the place." Alexander expected some surprised reactions, but it's soon clear that everyone already knew. Of course. These people are Angelica's second family, she wouldn't keep something so big a secret from them. "I don't know who it was exactly, but it doesn't even matter. It's clear it was someone who's hurt and afraid, and is letting those feelings harden them, make them into a much more dangerous monster than the ones they fear. The kind of monster who hates people he doesn't know anything about, who wants to drive them away forever. But we won't stand for this." A few displays of approval here and there – a couple people start clapping their hands together, someone else exclaims, _Damn right!_. "I decided to have this party because we're not afraid. We're proud of us and what we've achieved, I'm proud of all of you for the way you fight every day just to be yourselves. And I thought I could be proud of myself too... but tonight, I realized I don't deserve to call myself your ally."

Nobody, not even Alexander or Eliza (at least judging from her confused expression and urgent murmuring into Peggy's ear), was expecting her speech to take such a turn. It makes no sense. Next to Laurens, Angelica is the only living Alexander knows who treats people like him like, well... people. Not only that, she's stuck her neck out for the PDS cause time and time again – even when nobody expected her to, even when it was at her own expenses. So where is this 'I'm inadequate' shit coming from?

"You see, you guys come to me with your problems and I'm always telling you to be strong and brave. That things will get better, you just have to keep being yourselves and the others are going to have to accept you or fuck off. And I still believe that, of course. But I haven't been following my own advice," she confesses, and Alexander has a feeling he knows where this is going. His chest hurts with how proud he is of Angelica, how much he cares about her. "For years I've lied to you and to myself out of fear that other people wouldn't accept me. I haven't been strong nor brave. And I want to change that. I want to follow your example and be the person... the person I _deserve_ to be. So I'm telling you first, because I might never have found the courage to accept this if it wasn't for all of you." She takes a deep breath, lets go. "I'm gay. Always have been, never admitted it. But I am tired of hiding. I want to be brave, like you guys. I want to be strong. So you can be grateful to me all you want for tonight, but this was nothing. I gave you a fun place to hang tonight, but you... You've changed my life. And for that I am grateful to you, and always will be."

A few seconds of stunned silence follow her speech, just the time it takes Angelica to nod with determination and jump down the counter. Then the whole place explodes. Good thing most of the guests have already left, or they'd have probably ended up tripping over each other in their rush to get to Angelica. Everyone's trying to hug her, shake hands with her, share with her a few words of support and appreciation.

"Dude, that was amazing!" Laurens is telling her when Alexander gets closer. "You totally need to give a speech at our protest, you'll blow everyone away."

"It's true," Alexander agrees. "We need a voice like yours."

Angelica smirks at him. "Idealistic and bitchy, you mean? It'd be a pleasure."

"Awesome," Laurens says, turning to high-five Alexander.

He complies, waits for his friend to scamper off somewhere before turning his attention back to Angelica: "I can't even begin to say how proud I am of you. Your words... Honestly, I'm glad I can't cry anymore, or I'd be a total mess right now. You know, with tears and snot everywhere. The whole horrifying number."

"And to think I said no to all of this," she jokes, gesturing to him.

It should hurt, especially now that the wound is still so fresh, but it doesn't. It actually makes Alexander feel much lighter. "Don't go changing your mind now, regretting your choice for the rest of your days."

She laughs. "I don't think I am," she eventually says, and even though she's still smiling it's clear that she means it.

"No, you're not," Alexander agrees, and okay, maybe it does hurt a little. It's easy to forget it when Angelica looks so happy, though.

"Thank you," she says, and gives him an affectionate, only slightly awkward punch on the shoulder before retreating into Eliza and Peggy's arms.

Watching her walk away, Alexander is so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice Burr approaching, and almost jumps out of his skin when he hears him say: "So. You giving up on her yet?"

It's really none of his business, Alexander wants to point out, but his tone was kind enough and Alexander needs to talk about it – and with Laurens drunk off his ass and doing god knows what to Benny and Mulligan and Lafayette having way too much fun manning the bar, Burr is the best he can do right now.

So he shrugs, says: "Don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Burr nods. "I'm sorry, Alexander. Really. Although I can't help pointing out that if you'd followed my advice from the beginning, you never would have ended up in this situation."

Alexander knits his brows, not following. "What do you mean?"

"I did tell you she was out of your league, didn't I?"

"What..." Alexander starts asking, and then he remembers. That first night, what feels like ages ago. Asking Burr about his chances with Angelica, and Burr being kind of an asshole about it. "Shit. What... You _knew_? How?"

"You'll find things have a way of revealing themselves to you if you just take a second to pay attention," Burr replies matter-of-factly, and Alexander would be annoyed at his condescension if he weren't used to it by now.

He can't help rolling his eyes, though, complain: "Shit, man. Would it have killed you to be a little more forward?"

"Doubtlessly. This is Angelica we're talking about – do you think anyone could spill her secrets and walk away still in one piece?" He looks way too proud of himself when Alexander laughs at the remark. Then he adds, serious to the point of graveness: "Besides, it wasn't my place to tell."

For once, Alexander can't blame him for his coyness. "Yeah, I know." He claps Burr on the shoulder, ignoring his mildly horrified expression at such a familiar gesture. Geez, the guy really needs to lighten up. "Thanks for trying to warn me anyway. I appreciate it."

Burr nods in response, distant but respectful. "To moving on?" he asks, raising his glass for Alexander to join the toast.

Oh, why the hell not. Getting drunk with Burr isn't exactly the triumphant conclusion he imagined for tonight, but he's always had a talent for making good with what he gets. "To moving on," he echoes, and clinks his glass against Burr's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, two quick PSAs...
> 
> 1\. I finally got my shit together and finished planning the story, so as you can see we finally have an indicative number of chapters – I say indicative because it might still change if I decide to split a chapter like I did with this one, or to merge two chapters into a single one, but at least now I can give you an idea of how long the story is going to be. Yup, the answer is _Pretty damn long_ =X
> 
> 2\. I'm thinking of changing the rating to a T because... well, essentially, because I don't really feel like writing smut these days ^^' Not super-explicit stuff, at least. However, I do feel bad about promising it and not delivering, so if it's something you'd really like to read just let me know and I'll tell my dumb muse to get over herself and write you some good old-fashioned steamy M/M.
> 
> Okay that should be it. Thanks for putting up with me, and remember that comments brighten my day and life (well, nice ones do. But even super-critical ones are appreciated. Just don't be MEAN because I'm really fragile).


	9. In which Alexander is an agitator

After less than two weeks at Dandridge & Washington, Alexander knows his way around the firm as if he'd been working there his whole life. He can easily set apart the emails he can answer on his own from the ones that have to be brought to Washington's attention. He can find the legal texts his boss needs to consult quicker than Washington himself. He knows what associates are incompetent assholes he needs to avoid at all costs if he doesn't want to end up hitting them and which ones are incompetent but generally okay to be around, as long as they avoid talking about work, politics, human rights or anything else that can be even slightly controversial.

He also knows little details that could be considered trivial, yet can turn out to be essential in the right situation – for example, that the copy machine on the first floor will be unsupervised for exactly 42 minutes every day right before lunch break, a piece of information his rommates found extremely interesting. With the protest happening in just a couple of weeks, they need to start putting out fliers and they all welcomed the chance to cover the cost by letting snotty living lawyers pay for the leaflets in their place.

Alexander feels a little like an undercover agent, or a smuggler, as he casually walks out of the building with almost a hundred dollar's worth of copies hidden in his briefcase and heads for the edge of Central Park where he's supposed to meet his friends.

He finds them at a picnic table – Lafayette perched on it, Mulligan sitting with his arms spread on the back of the bench, and Laurens leaning against the other bench, arguing something. Alexander can't help noticing that the few other people around (a teenage couple, four women jogging in circles and an old man with two small children) are staying as far from them as possible, occasionally throwing wary glances in their direction. He distractedly wonders whether it's because his friends are PDS or just because they are loud and don't look too wholesome in general.

"If it isn't the man of the hour!" Laurens welcomes Alexander, lighting up when he sees him approach their table. He lowers his voice then, asks with a conspiratorial air: "You got the stuff?"

"Of course I do. Did you doubt me?" he asks in mock offense, opening his briefcase just enough for the others to get a peek at its content.

Laurens grins at him. "Not for a second," he says, throwing an arm around Alexander's shoulder, as Lafayette pulls out a stack of fliers and gasps, incredulous: "And they're _color_?"

"Dude, respect," Mulligan says, bumping his fist with Alexander's.

"Well, I couldn't let all your hard work go to waste, could I?" Alexander plays it cool. "Your extra-cool design deserved the best. Besides, I thought it'd be rude not to take full advantage of Dandridge & Washington's kindness."

Lafayette shakes his head – probably an attempt to look exasperated, but he isn't fooling anyone. Not when he's smiling like that and his voice sounds way more impressed than worried. "You are so going to get fired."

"No I'm not. I'm too awesome for that," Alexander argues.

The others either agree or have accepted the fact that they can't change his mind about it, because there's no skeptical reaction from any of them. Instead, Mulligan gets right down to business. "So. We can cover more ground by splitting up, but I think it's better if we work in pairs. Safer that way."

"Safer?" Alexander asks. "You think someone would jump us just for hanging fliers?"

"Better safe than sorry. I've seen people like us beaten to a pulp for way less," Mulligan reminds him, dry.

He's got a point. "Okay, you're right. So... let's say two take the Upper East, and the other two the West Side? And we meet back at Angie's when we're done?" Alexander suggests.

There's a muttering of agreement from the others. Alexander is about to ask Laurens whether he has any preferences as to the area the two of them should cover when Mulligan beats him to it. "We taking the West Side, alright Laurens? I want to make a stop at the Ben and Jerry's on the 46th later. Vera says their PDS-friendly ice cream is better than ours and I must check it out before I can start calling her a backstabbing sellout."

Laurens hesitates. "I thought I was going with Hams?"

"Uh-huh, no way," Mulligan refuses, shaking his head. "I don't want to come collect what's left of you two at the hospital."

"Come on, we can be careful!" Alexander protests.

"Mulligan is right," Lafayette steps in. "And really, it's good to switch things up from time to time. I don't want there to be factions and biases between us."

The remark is casual enough, but it stings nonetheless – mostly because it's so unfair. So Alexander and Laurens have grown to be a little closer than the others. It's not like they're spending all their time conspiring to bring the other two down. Actually, if anyone's acting behind the others' backs it's Lafayette and Mulligan, because there's no way they didn't plan this together. They probably have secret meetings and everything, Alexander thinks, where they bitch about how he and Laurens spend all of their time together and try to come up with improbable schemes to keep them apart.

In any case, his friends are being crazy, and Alexander plans on letting them know loud and clear.

Or he would, if Laurens didn't talk before him. Surprisingly enough, he's the one who prevents the whole thing from turning into a fight. "Whatever," he dismisses Lafayette's concerns. "Y'all are being paranoid, but see if I care. West Side it is, Mulls. Just remember I'm not paying for your disgusting ice cream."

Mulligan nods, pleased, and grabs about half of the fliers. "We have a deal. See you guys later!"

"Later," Alexander replies. He waits until Laurens and Mulligan are well out of earshot before turning to Lafayette, perplexed. "Really, Laf? Factions and biases?"

"Aren't you happy I want to spend time with you?" Lafayette pouts, an amused light in his eyes. Great, so after starting this he won't even take it seriously.

Alexander takes a deep breath. "Very. But I'd be even happier if you had just said so, instead of accusing Laurens and me of some misguided allegiance at your expenses," he counters.

"Oh, like that's so far from the truth." 

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, these, for starters," Lafayette says, holding up the stack of handbills.

If that's what the whole thing is about, Alexander is going to kill Lafayette. For good this time. "Oh my god, not that again," he groans. "For the last time, both designs were great, okay? I just picked one at random because you guys were never going to make up your mind on your own."

"My point exactly. You didn't even care about the design, you just chose this one because Laurens liked it better and you like _him_ better," Lafayette accuses him, and Alexander would dismiss him as whiny and paranoid if what he's saying weren't at least a little true.

Not that Alexander is ever going to admit it. "I do not," he protests. "I only chose it because Laurens promised to give me a back massage if I did."

" _Génial_. Because that makes it better."

Okay, that probably wasn't the most effective line of argument. Better to change tactics, and quickly. "And it's not like you and Mulligan don't do the same all the time," Alexander tries counterattacking with an accusation of his own. "Remember when I dared suggesting we got rid of the TV?"

"That was different," Lafayette says, but he doesn't explain why.

All the better, because Alexander already has the answer. "You're right. Laurens had to bribe me, while you jumped to Mulligan's rescue without him even having to ask," he counters. "So really, the only difference I see is that your loyalty is way more absolute and blind than ours."

"That, and I don't want to bone Mulligan."

That's about the last thing Alexander expected to hear. "What?" he asks, his voce growing high-pitched with indignation. How did Lafayette even get that idea? Not that Laurens isn't a total dreamboat, but Alexander has never entertained the notion of doing anything about it. Unless you count that one time at New Year's, which _shouldn't_ count since Alexander was drunk and upset and nothing happened anyway. "Okay that, that's absurd. Laurens and I? Why would you think we'd..."

"You told me, Alexander," Lafayette interrupts him, and it's annoying how much he sounds like the voice of reason when he's most definitely not.

"Really? 'cause I sure as hell don't remember," Alexander challenges him.

"You don't remember Angie's party? Crashing in Mulligan's bed because he got invited to a female acquaintance's apartment and your room was, uh, momentarily occupied?"

Of course Alexander remembers. The look on Benny's face as Alexander innocently stumbled into his own friggin' room looking to get some much needed shut-eye and ended up walking in on him and Laurens getting it on is forever burned into his mind and will haunt him for the rest of his days. He still doesn't see what that has to do with anything, though. "Yeah, so?"

"You don't remember what we talked about?" Lafayette presses on.

Alexander thinks about it. "We didn't talk about anything. I was smashed, I must have fallen asleep within two minutes," he eventually shrugs it off. Then he sees his friend's face and his conviction begins to falter. "Didn't I?"

"Er, not exactly," Lafayette contradicts him. "You asked me if I thought Laurens was into you."

"Fuck off," Alexander says, because that's just ridiculous.

"You did! You had this whole list of reasons," Laf insists, and he does sound genuine, Alexander will give him that.

Still, better to play it safe. "Okay, let's say I did. So you went and got it into your head that I have some sort of schoolboy crush on Laurens just because of something I might have said while I was still upset over Angelica and totally shit-faced?" he asks, doing his best to stress out how absurd the accusation is.

Lafayette won't have it. "So you don't have a crush on Laurens?"

"Of course not!" Alexander protests, and he knows how defensive he sounds but he has every right to be. Most of the time he doesn't know himself if he wants to kiss Laurens or give him a heavy dose of sedative or punch him in the face, Lafayette can't put him with his back to the wall and demand he explains himself.

Except that's exactly what his friend is trying to do. "So your being pretty much glued to each other, your lovesick little smile whenever you mention him, your immature grudge against his boyfriend... I shouldn't think anything of that?"

"He's not his boyfriend," Alexander argues automatically. Then his brain catches up to his mouth, and he realizes how that must have sounded. He rushes to amend: "Not that I care. And you, my dear, are being delusional. I told you all the crap TV you and Mulligan insist on watching was gonna come bite you in the ass sometime soon."

Lafayette stares at him for a long moment before caving. "Fine," he accepts half-heartedly. "Whatever you say."

It's not really a surrender, but Alexander will take it. He would really like to close every discussion of the subject, now and forever. He would, but Lafayette looks like he has something to add and is currently engaged in an internal debate to decide whether to say it or let it go.

Oh, what the hell. Let's get this over with. "What?" Alexander makes the decision for him.

Lafayette sighs, leaning back against the bench. "Look, I'm not just being a dick, okay? I'm worried about you." He looks down, trying to find the right words. "Laurens is... Let's say he's not exactly boyfriend material. I don't want him to hurt you the way he hurts everyone."

Alexander shouldn't take the bait, but he's too curious not to. So instead of once again denying the possibility of having his heart broken by Laurens of all people, he asks: "What do you mean?"

"You saw how he acted with Benny."

"You mean like an asshole? With a side of obnoxious and just a pinch of callous?"

Lafayette laughs in spite of himself. " _C'est ça_. And I'm afraid it wasn't just a one-time mistake. Eight months I've known him, and I've seen him sabotage every single chance at a relationship he got in that time."

"Is that what happened with you two?" Alexander wonders. He always assumed it had been the other way round – Lafayette running back to that girl he was dating at the time, leaving Laurens alone and heartbroken. This new version of the story makes more sense, though, if anything for the way Lafayette is still refusing to look Alexander in the eye. "Shit. Laf, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I've been over it for a while now," Lafayette dismisses his concern, finally meeting Alexander's eyes again, and it must be true if he can still live with Laurens and be his friend. Alexander is a little jealous of his maturity. "But it seems to be a pattern with Laurens – he'll make you feel special and amazing until you sleep with him, and then he'll get bored with you within a couple of weeks and start treating you horribly."

"He did that to you too?" Alexander asks, horrified. It was one thing to see Laurens act like a jerk to Benny, whom Alexander barely knows and never liked anyway, but nobody messes with Laf. He's the last person on earth who deserves to be messed with.

So he's more relieved than he'd like to admit when Lafayette shakes his head. "It never got _that_ bad, I had enough self-respect to end things before it did. But the last week or so, I could see he was starting to act different. Like my company annoyed him – smothered him, even. He was distant, insensitive, and didn't seem interested in doing anything that wasn't strictly sex-related. And even the sex he was barely into, actually."

Alexander tries to imagine it – Laurens, the same guy who lights up whenever he sees Alexander, who hangs on Alexander's every word, who makes pints of coffee and stays up studying 'til impossible hours whenever Alexander has to work late just for the intimate joy of seeing the same tiredness reflected in his eyes whenever they look up at the same time, suddenly growing cold, starting to see him more and more like an inconvenience. He finds that he can't.

He doesn't know whether that's reassuring or terrifying.

"So you stopped sleeping with him," Alexander says slowly, shaking himself from the mental exercise.

Lafayette nods. "And just like that he started wanting me around again. Asking me to grab lunch with him or go hit the clubs. At first I thought he felt bad for what he did and wanted me back, but he assured me that wasn't the case. He just wanted to go back to being friends again – and that's what we did." There's a faint smile on his lips as he admits: "Good thing too, because he's one of my best friends now. He's like, objectively awesome."

"Just as long as you don't try and date him," Alexander concludes.

Lafayette nods. "Precisely," he agrees, and the pointed look he gives Alexander brings him back to reality.

"Well, you have nothing to worry about. I wasn't planning on going after him."

"Okay," Lafayette says, pensive. "Okay. If you say so, I trust you."

"Thank you," Alexander says. Then he clarifies: "Well, not for trusting me, that's a given. For trying to look out for me."

Lafayette smiles. "But of course."

"And don't worry about the apartment, okay?" Alexander tries to reassure him. "So maybe it's true, maybe we do take sides from time to time, but it doesn't have to be such a bad thing. We've all been getting along real well anyway, if you ask me. Granted, the last time I lived for over a month with someone who wasn't family they ended up trying to stab me to death with a hand blender so I probably don't have the best grounds for comparison, but still."

Lafayette's eyes widen comically. "A blender? Really?"

Alexander waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry, I ran. Contrary to what some people seem to believe, I do know when it's better to back down from a fight."

Lafayette laughs. "Touché." He grabs the remaining fliers, asks: " _On y va_? These bad boys are not going to hand themselves out", and just like that it's over, every tension forgotten and they're business as usual.

Even with the stolen (sorry, _donated_ , Alexander would never do something as reproachable as stealing from the workplace) copies, they don't have as many leaflets as they'd like so they decide to ask around if shops and diners are willing to display one in their windows. It's more work than simply hanging handbills on streetlights and bus stops, especially since most people they talk to are obviously uncomfortable with the subject – no matter how much they stress out the word "peaceful", "protest" and "PDS rights" are the ones that seem to get the most attention and the better part of well-trained shop assistants and respectable owners doesn't want that kind of trouble. And they have to avoid chains, because apparently the employees there are not allowed to so much as sneeze a certain way without an explicit order from someone higher up on the food chain.

Still. This strategy allows them to cover more ground and reach more people without wasting half as much material, so they figure it's worth putting up with the disapproving looks and terrible excuses.

Of course, there's the kind of trouble one just has to live with, no point in trying to avoid it, and the kind of trouble one creates from themselves. Lafayette and Mulligan can defend their argumentations 'til they're blue in the face, it doesn't change the fact that it would have given Alexander way more credibility to walk into the establishments with Laurens by his side, relaxed and charming and _alive_. It's unbelievable how much nobler a cause can look when it's supported by people that don't directly benefit from it. And Mulligan's spotless make-up and crazy ability to always say exactly what the person in front of him wants to hear would have more than made up for Lafayette's thick foreign accent and lack of mousse and contacts.

After an hour of bargaining and fake smiles and (metaphorical, for now) slammed doors, Alexander is about to start complaining to Lafayette that his team-forming skills are the worst.  While a lot of people have been cool and accepting, the scale is still tipped in strong favor of the assholes and there's only so much Alexander can take. Lafayette talks first, though, asks him: "So how are things at the firm?" He nudges Alexander in the shoulder. "Made any friends yet?"

Alexander snorts. "What do you think?"

"Did you even try?" Lafayette insists, sounding way too much like a concerned parent after their weird loner of a kid's first day of school.

"Well, there was this one girl who seemed okay, and then she went and started making weird questions about the way I died," Alexander offers. Making those kinds of inquiries to a PDS sufferer is considered about the rudest thing one can do, and while Alexander doesn't really care because that's far from being the real problem, he knows Lafayette does and will readily take his side.

That's exactly what happens. "Really? Unbelievable," Lafayette comments, sadly. "Are you the only PDS employee there?"

Alexander nods. "Well, there's a couple guys who do the cleaning, but they usually come in after everyone's left the house. The lawyers, surprise surprise, are all rich racist living."

"I believe the correct term is 'pulsist' now."

"What?"

Lafayette seems all too eager to explain. "You know, because 'racism' doesn't really apply to discrimination against the PDS community. It's not about ethnicity, it's about..."

"Our not having a pulse?" Alexander guesses, underwhelmed.

His friend nods. " _Exactement_."

"Whatever," Alexander says, and enters a small coffee shop.

They emerge a couple minutes later with the exact same amount of fliers they had before and one more name for Alexander's blacklist. It's the only thing he could think of to avoid getting too upset about the way he's being treated by some of the people they talk to – instead of blowing up in their faces, which would be well-deserved but ultimately bad for the cause, he just writes down the names of the shops so that he can urge every PDS sufferer in the city to steer clear of them. Most of them probably won't even notice, but he's holding out hope that at least a few will have a drop in sales. Or maybe even earn themselves some good old-fashioned vandalism, how unfair it is that the only one falling victim of it was Angelica?

"Okay, what about enemies?" Lafayette picks up the conversation where they left it off. After the first half dozen rejections, he has stopped complaining about the racism (pulsism? God, that sounds so stupid) of the average person behind the counter and Alexander won't push the discussion in that direction since it only seems to make his friend feel shitty.

Instead, he mulls over the question before shaking his head. "Nah. None of them is bright enough to deserve the title." He sighs. "Honestly, I'm starting to believe the firm isn't really a firm but some sort of charity to take care of incompetent lawyers. That's not too far from the reason I was hired, after all."

"What, you're an incompetent lawyer now?" Lafayette asks, looking like he doesn't know whether he should be amused or worried.

"Of course not," Alexander protests, making a face, because the mere notion is preposterous. He's a _terrific_ lawyer – or he would be, if only someone gave him a chance to prove himself. "But I'm not working as a lawyer, am I? There's countless people who could be doing what I'm doing now just as well. I wasn't hired for my skills, I was hired because you told Washington about me and he took pity on me."

"That is not true," Lafayette objects. "You know he admires you a lot."

That's true, Alexander knows it. The guy has even asked his opinion about cases once or twice, ignoring the not-so-legal implications of it because, he said, helping his client was more important to him and Alexander could really give him a hand. He has never even tried to deny how much of an asset Alexander can be to the firm.

Still. It's far from being enough to satisfy Alexander. "Maybe. Doesn't change the fact that he's keeping me on the back burner while those sorry excuses for lawyers he's hired get all the fun and credit and the big salary."

"But he did say he wants to hire you too, right?" Lafayette insists. "As a lawyer, I mean. And he's a man of his word – if he says so, you'll get your moment. Besides, it's not like you have to worry about time," he concludes, only half-jokingly.

That's a philosophy Alexander can't get behind. So technically he's not alive anymore. Why would it mean he doesn't have to worry about death? Alright, he's not going to age, and he should be safe from most known diseases, and if he gets into a fight he'll come out of it pretty much unscathed unless someone stabs or shoots him in the head. He knows all this, and he guesses it's reassuring in a way.

He also knows the statistics, though. He knows depression, hate crimes and the inability to escape the past have caused the PDS population to decrease way faster than the living one. And yeah, Alexander is strong-willed and he's sort of managing the flashbacks in his own way, but he also has a tendency to stir up trouble. It's way too easy to imagine a gang of self-entitled living vigilantes jumping him and tossing his body in a ditch, game over. The authorities not even bothering trying to understand what happened. Not to mention the fact that he's already existing on borrowed time. Who can guarantee that any day from now people like him aren't going to start dropping dead again, just as suddenly and inexplicably as they came back to life?

He's considering whether to voice his concerns to Lafayette or let him live in blissful ignorance when his friend stops in his tracks. "Hey, how about this one?" he suggests, nodding in the direction of a little shop Alexander just walked past.

Alexander turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Seriously?" he asks, because he didn't overlook the place out of distraction. He saw the sacred icons and fancy escritoire in the shopping window all too well – just like he saw the snobbish elderly lady behind the counter, probably the owner herself. Now, Alexander knows it's wrong to judge a person by the way they look, but he's ready to bet if she ever gave any thought at all to the issue of freedom of speech for the PDS community, her conclusion must have been that it's a Bad, Bad Thing.

His friend shrugs, gives him one of his infuriating optimistic grins. "People can surprise you," he says, and before Alexander can stop him he pushes the door and walks in.

In Alexander's experience, when people do surprise you it's usually in a bad way. At this point, though, there's not much else he can do but follow, make sure Lafayette only gets kicked out and not, who knows, reported to the authorities for trying to rob a nice old lady or something.

"Good evening," the woman welcomes them with polite detachment. She takes a better look at them, then, and can't hide a little frown. "May I help you?"

The way she asks it, as if she were expecting them to say no, of course, they just stumbled into the place by mistake, they couldn't possibly afford anything she's selling, really grates on Alexander's nerves. Good thing Lafayette starts talking before he does.

"Good evening, m'am. I hope we're not bothering you. We just wanted to ask you for a small favor," he starts, for what feels like the thousandth time. The whole speech started to sound stale to the two of them after the third repeat, but it's not like the people they give it to will notice. "See, we're King's College students and a few weeks ago our university's board decided to ban all discussion about PDS rights from not only the classrooms, but also the students' magazine. We're holding a peaceful protest against this decision, and the embarrassment and silence surrounding the PDS issue in general. Did you know that..."

The owner raises a hand to silence him, cuts him off: "Say no more," and Alexander is sure this is the moment they get kicked out. At least he'll get to say _I told you so_ to Lafayette, it'll almost make up for the waste of time and the humiliation.

Surprisingly enough, though, the lady carries on: "What do you want me to do, keep some fliers in here? Or even better, I could hang one in the shopping window – it's already crowded, but at least people will see it from the street that way. Believe it or not, I don't get many costumers in here, and most of them are long past their protesting days, I'm afraid."

Lafayette lets her take a flier, beaming at her. "Thank you so much, that would be great."

"Don't mention it! I'm glad to see two young men getting involved in politics. Most people your age seem more interested in doing drugs and playing silly video games. And I'm a PDS supporter, you know – went to vote for the reintegration plan and everything," she declares, proudly. "Those Victus people are always shouting, always so angry. That's not the way to solve things." She shakes her head. "My own daughter supports them, will you believe it? But then she's always been quite unreasonable. She disowned my niece just for being PDS, can you imagine? A mother doing that to her own daughter! Where's the world going?"

"That's awful," Alexander agrees. He's almost afraid to ask: "What happened to the girl? Is she okay?"

"Why, of course she is! I took her in, the poor thing. Thinking of disowning my knucklehead of a daughter myself for being a pulsist, see how she likes it."

Alexander chuckles, ignoring Lafayette's smug grin at the old lady's use of the new term. "Would serve her right," he comments.

"Yes, it would," the woman says, and sighs. "But I was raised a good Christian, I should forgive and forget. The world would be a better place if people did that more often."

Alexander and Lafayette can't argue with that.

They leave the shop almost twenty minutes later – the owner must get bored, sitting there all day waiting for clients to show up, and she jumped on the chance to chat a little, asked them all about their lives and provided her own colorful commentary. In terms of wasting time, it probably went worse than if she'd simply kicked them out mid-speech, but Alexander can't help feeling a little pleased that there's one more leaflet overlooking the street. And really, even though they have more pressing matters to take care of, it was kinda nice talking to that lady.

The only major downside is that Laf doesn't seem to plan on stopping grinning like a smug little shit anytime soon. "Anything you want to tell me?" he asks as they walk down the street, 

"Not particularly," Alexander deadpans.

He didn't expect Lafayette to relent so easily, and he doesn't. "Really? No _Sorry, Laf, you are so brilliant and perceptive and I should have trusted you?_ No _You were totally right and now I feel like an idiot?_ "

"Hey, I did follow you inside," Alexander points out, because it's not like he threw a tantrum and left his friend on his own. He should at least get credit for that.

Lafayette misinterprets his meaning. "Oh, so you actually agreed with me all along!" he exclaims, sarcastic. "Convenient."

"What do you want me to say? It _was_ a long shot. You were just lucky."

"You call it luck. I prefer to believe I have great karma because I am such a good person."

Alexander looks at him and laughs. "Yeah, I guess that works too."

It gets a little better after that. Most establishments don't welcome them with open arms, and they still get more rejections than help, but they manage to hand out most of the handbills all the same. Alexander is quite proud of what they achieve.

He's listening to Lafayette give the usual little speech, eyes huge and pleading, to a waitress in a small diner between Lexington and the 74th, when a random guy interjects out of the blue: "You're kidding, right? You don't really expect this place to support extremist groups?"

"We're not an extremist group," Alexander shuts him up. "We're students holding a completely nonviolent protest. As is our right."

The guy doesn't seem convinced. "Even if that were true, in a situation like this having a protest is only going to stir up more trouble. I know how these things go. You think you're supporting civil rights, and next thing you know there's riots in the streets and these rabids are wreaking havoc all over the place."

"And you think keeping people silent and subjugated is going to solve anything? Now _that_ would be a good reason to have riots," Lafayette observes.

"See, I knew it! You don't actually want the protest to be nonviolent," the guy accuses. How he came to this conclusion, only he knows. "I figured you out the second you came in. Going around bare like that? You're obviously agitators. ULA members, even."

A few heads turn at the accusation. It's been a couple of months since the last attack from the most extreme and outspoken PDS rights group, and far from being reassuring, the fact only seems to have made people more anxious. Numerous threats have been made in the last few weeks, mostly due to the government taking into consideration more restrictive (read "segregating") norms that follow the British model, and everyone is just waiting for the Undead Liberation Army to make good on those threats.

The waitress finally speaks, voice a little shaky with fear: "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to step outside."

Alexander can't believe it. Actually, he can, all too well, and that makes it so much worse. "You can't be serious! What, just because this asshole is running his mouth about things he doesn't know shit about?"

The waitress swallows nervously. "All three of you, actually. Your political disagreements have no place here, and they're disturbing the other clients."

"But I was just..." the guy starts complaining.

She won't have it. "Out, please," she demands, kindly but firmly.

The three comply. Alexander should be annoyed that yet another person refused to help them out, and he is, but there's something satisfyingly vindicating in seeing the jerk who tried to get them lynched on the spot get kicked out as well.

"Hope this'll teach you to keep your chauvinist ignorant mouth shut from now on," he taunts the guy.

Who shoots back: "I thought you were all about freedom of speech? Guess it only applies to stiffs like you then."

Alexander snorts. "I would be more careful with my words if I were you. We're two against one, and if I remember correctly, you said we're dangerous terrorists. Maybe pissing us off even more than you already have isn't the smartest idea."

"Come on, Hams, let's go," Lafayette tries to hold him back. "We're only wasting time here."

Alexander ignores him. "And I'll have you know, your freedom of speech ends when it starts undermining someone else's. You can't go around telling everyone we're terrorists – that is, unless you want to be sued for slander."

"Whatever," the guys replies, walking away. "Go ahead and do it. Good luck finding a lawyer and a judge that'll believe you, corpse."

Alexander is about to go after him, but Lafayette physically stops him this time. "Alexander, please," he insists, grabbing him by the shoulder. "It's not worth it."

He watches the guy walk away, almost dizzy with anger. He wishes Laurens were here – he would never have let the guy get away with his words. In fact, he would probably have been the one to throw the first punch. He's the only one who seems to understand Alexander's need to be respected, to take that respect himself if need be.

Laurens isn't here, though, and Lafayette wants Alexander to calm down and let it go, so he does his best to do exactly that. "He's right, you know," he tells Lafayette, because that's what really stings. Not the dumb slurs and arrogance, those he's used to. It's the fact that the goddamn jerk is right.

Lafayette frowns. "About what?" he wonders.

There's a bitter taste in Alexander's mouth. "He can do whatever he likes to us. No jury will ever find him guilty. And that's not even the worst part, is it?" he asks hopelessly. "God, we couldn't even sue him in the first place since PDS sufferers can only hire lawyers to defend themselves in court."

"They're talking about lifting that restriction," Lafayette reminds him, always trying to look at the bright side.

"Yeah," Alexander replies distractedly. "Yeah, they better get on that quickly. And you know what?"

"What?" his friend asks curiously.

Alexander looks at him with determination, promises: "As soon as they do, PDS sufferers are going to win every single case they bring to court. I'm going to make sure of it."


	10. In which Alexander stands up

According to the experts, it's been the driest winter in decades. It can't have rained or snowed more than three or four times since back in October, and for months people have been in a panic about it – the more environmentally conscious bringing up global warming and the need to take drastic measures against it, the others grumbling and worrying without knowing what to do other than hope for things to change quickly.

Their prayers are finally heard when rain starts pouring with almost tropical intensity on Saturday, January 23rd. Aka the day of the protest. Alexander would be disheartened if by now he hadn't come to expect all odds to be against them.

He buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and quickens his pace. Water is already trickling down his hair and chin, his sopping clothes clinging to his skin. He doesn't mind – he can't feel the cold wet slide of the droplets down his body, and besides, he's faced far worse when he was an idealistic student trying to raise attention to the issues he cared about. He knows some causes are more important than his own personal comfort.

He just hopes a load of people feel the same way today, or the protest is going to fail spectacularly.

One person who's not about to let some frightful weather scare them off is Laurens. Alexander finds him in the middle of the King's College quad, hanging signs with slogans like _Rise Up, Speak Up_ and _Can't be kept in dead silence_.

"What are you doing out here?!" Alexander asks. He thought he was in bad shape but that was before he saw how his friend was doing. In addition to being just as soaked and disheveled as Alexander, Laurens can't seem to stop shivering – which is making his job all the more complicated.

The unfavorable conditions haven't made him any less bitchy, anyway. "Dancing the hula. What does it look like I'm doing?" he shoots back, struggling to tie one of the cords that hold up the banner to a tree. "I'm hanging these damn banners. Or at least trying to," he adds through his teeth.

Alexander rolls his eyes. "That was a rhetorical question. You're going to catch pneumonia or something."

Laurens shrugs. "The show must go on. And I'm not going to catch shit. Trust me, I'm a doctor," he adds at Alexander's skeptical look, and winks.

"Not yet you're not. And at this rate, you won't live long enough to become one," Alexander chides him, but he sets to helping him out.

Together, they get the banners to stay in place. Well, more or less. Alexander hopes the wind doesn't pick up too much speed, or they're going to go fly the friendly skies in no time. Although on second thought, that might be kinda cool. He imagines a little fleet of PDS rights banners sailing through the New York skies, maybe ending up in some pulsist's backyard, and can't help smiling to himself.

Laurens looks at him curiously, but he doesn't ask any questions. "Thanks, babe. Couldn't have done it without my knight in shining armor," he says instead, giving Alexander's cheek a theatrical smooch. Alexander is really glad Laf and Mulligan aren't there to witness it.

Speaking of which. "Where are the others?" he asks, looking around.

Laurens makes a vague gesture somewhere to their right. "They're setting everything up somewhere a little drier. Shall we go find them?"

"Lead the way," Alexander encourages him.

'Somewhere a little drier' turns out to be the small awning in front of a hot dog kiosk at the edge of the quad. With all the equipment they brought, there's hardly enough room for all four of them under the tarpaulin, but at least the speakers they borrowed from Angelica should be safe from the water. The last thing they need is their equipment breaking down mid-protest and a vengeful Angelica on their case. 

Lafayette looks incredibly relieved when he sees him. "Hammie, finally! We were starting to think you were jumped by the zombie police on your way here."

"Yeah, sorry. I got held up at work – and truth be told, I had kinda underestimated how long it takes to get here from Dandridge & Washington," he confesses.

"You know what would save you a shitload of time?" Mulligan asks from the spot behind the table where he's trying to get the sound system to work. "Putting on some mousse so you can take a goddamn subway unnoticed."

Alexander raises an eyebrow. "You mean I should have come to a protest for PDS freedom and acceptance in full make up? Nice. That would really have gotten the message through," he sneers.

"Ooh, speaking of blatant hypocrisy, you'll never guess who got us permission to use this space," Lafayette interjects. Before Alexander can even start forming a conjecture, he reveals: "Our friend Burr, no less. Apparently the owner has a stand at Princeton as well and he and Burr used to be friends back in his college days, and they've stayed close enough that he could call in a favor for us."

Well, that's unexpected. And touching, in a way. "Really? Does it mean he's going to come to the protest?" Alexander inquires, and he's almost surprised at how much he hopes the answer will be yes.

No such luck, of course. "What do you think?" Lafayette replies with another question, sounding uncharacteristically defeatist. "It's Burr. Still, it was nice of him to find us some cover."

"Yeah," Alexander agrees. He takes a look around, at the table stacked with pamphlets and the megaphone Laurens has been dicking around with since the moment they got here, and adds: "I see you've set it all up real nice, by the way."

Lafayette lights up. "Haven't we just? Look, we have speakers, informative material, and all the paperwork for the petition to re-allow PDS issues to be discussed on campus. Ooh, and I even got a camera to document everything."

"All we're missing is the people," Mulligan concludes, a little dispirited.

As much as Alexander shares his concern, he isn't going to lose hope so soon. "They'll show up, don't worry."

"Yeah, it's still way too early to get stressed," Laurens agrees with him. "Fliers said we'd be starting at 4."

"This weather doesn't exactly bode well for us, though," Mulligan argues.

"I know," Alexander agrees, and sighs. Then another thought occurs to him, and he smiles a sad smile. "So how many articles you wager we're going to see tomorrow swearing this storm is a sign of God's righteous wrath at us?"

Laurens scoffs extra hard. "I'm sorry, is _this_ supposed to be a storm? Please. I believe this is what we'd call tan weather in Charleston." He points the megaphone at the sky, shouts into it: " _IS THAT ALL YOU GOT, BIG G?!_ "

Mulligan groans. "Okay, that's it, that's strike number one. Two more and I'm going to have to revoke your megaphone privileges."

"I'd like to see you try," Laurens challenges him, but he sort of starts to behave after that.

In spite of their bleak predictions, people do start showing up about half an hour later – mostly high school and college students, as Alexander expected, but there's also a few older people, King's College professors or PDS themselves.

Eliza is there too, braving the cold and rain in one of her trademark colorful dresses, and Alexander was so sure she and Philip would be back in Albany by now that for a long moment he isn't sure it's really her. Then she comes say hi to them at the kiosk, hopping adorably to avoid the large pools that have long formed on the ground, and Alexander has no idea what she's still doing here but he's so glad she is.

By 4 pm, the quad is brimming with people, and Alexander has never been more grateful for his kind's lack of feeling. Not that all the participants are PDS – they're definitely making up the majority, but quite a lot of living turned up as well, mingling with the undead with no apparent fear or disgust. It's a pretty good sight.

"Alright everyone, listen up!" Laurens starts speaking into the megaphone. He's left the cover of the awning to climb on the pedestal of one of the statues in the quad, so that he can look down at the sea of faces below him. Judging by the wild look in his eyes, he must be liking what he sees. "I spent the last two hours listening to my friends over there bitch about the weather," he tells his audience. "They were worried about our protest, you see. They thought no one would show up. But you guys aren't about to let a little rain stop you, are you?"

A few voices here and there raise in agreement.

"Sorry, I didn't hear that. _You going to let some bad weather stop you?_ " he tries again.

This time, the crowd positively roars.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Laurens approves, grinning. "You going to let anyone stop you? You going to let the living make the rules for you? You going to spend all your lives in fear?"

Every question is answered by an enthusiastic, determined chorus of _Nooo_ 's and _Never_ 's.

Laurens punches the air, as fired up as the audience he's been trying to galvanize. "Damn right you're not! And we're gonna shout it to the rooftops, make it loud and clear to everyone. They started taking our rights away and they don't look like they're planning on stopping anytime soon. They did all they could to silence us. But we're not just going to stand there and take it. We're gonna fight back, we're gonna be heard, and we're gonna be respected!"

More cheering from the audience. Alexander will never tire of seeing Laurens like this – fierce and passionate, burning with the indomitable fire that keeps prompting him to get out there and do something, surrounded by people who find comfort in his words. Who thanks to him can finally find their courage, a purpose. The second he started talking to the crowd he wasn't a soaked little punk anymore, he turned into a guide light, shining bright and strong in the night sky, and looking at him is almost enough to make Alexander feel like he's alive again.

Alexander realizes he's left his mind wander and shakes himself, trying to focus on what his friend is saying next. "... and I believe we can do it. We can do anything," Laurens swears. "And yeah, I know it sounds cheesy. I know many of you probably don't believe me. But I'm seeing all of your eyes from up here and let me tell you, they're not the eyes of people who are going to give up. They're the eyes of people who are ready to put themselves out there, they're the eyes of people who are going to fight. To win!" he concludes, jumping down the pedestal, and the crowd explodes.

"That was great," Alexander compliments him when he gets back, rain dripping from his hair and nose and chin. He's still shivering, yet he somehow manages to look like his sheer energy is enough to keep him warm.

Mulligan mutters in agreement. "I just hope we don't find ourselves with a riot on our hands," he observes. "That was quite the aggressive approach."

"I was just trying to warm 'em up a bit before Washington makes everyone fall asleep." Laurens shrugs, unapologetic as usual. He starts looking around, asks: "Where is he, by the way? Didn't see him listening to my awesome opening speech."

"He's running late," Lafayette supplies.

Alexander makes a face. "You sure he isn't giving us the slip?"

Lafayette shakes his head, a determined look in his eyes. "He wouldn't."

As touching as Laf's faith in the guy is, Alexander doesn't share it. At all. Why would a big shot professor and lawyer stick out his neck for the cause after being infuriatingly careful about it for years? It just doesn't make sense.

"Really?" he asks, skeptical. "Because in my experience..."

"Hams, shut the hell up," Mulligan chides him. "Or even better, put that mouth of yours to good use and start giving your speech. Washington can speak after you."

"Damn. For a second there I thought you'd finally caved and were going to ask me to blow you," Alexander jokes, but he grabs the megaphone and gets ready to give the speech he and Laurens wrote together. It's been forever since he's had to speak in front of so many people, and it's more unsettling than he'd imagined. Still, he knows the words the two of them wrote together by heart and he believes them with such conviction that it's easy to start speaking without hesitation or fear. "Hello everyone, and thanks for showing up. Let me begin by saying this – it's so important that you're here today. It's so, so important that you're taking a stand, that you're trying to have your voice be heard, because right now there are people who don't want you to do that ever again." A beat, just for dramatic effect. Then he carries on: "If you've read our fliers, you already know what prompted us to hold this protest. Two very dear, brilliant friends of mine are students here, and last month they wrote an article for the college magazine that I was lucky enough to read. It was accurate, it was clear, it was honest. It was current and sensitive. The kind of article that any institution would be proud to see its students write." He catches Laurens' eye, the amused spark in it and his raised eyebrow, and can't help smiling to himself. Okay, so maybe the original version of the speech didn't include such shameless gushing about Laurens and Lafayette's work. Alexander would never rob his friends of the praise they deserve, though. Unlike some people. "But not this institution. Not only was the article turned down, the King's College board deemed it necessary to have an emergency meeting about it and eventually decided that all discussion about PDS issues should be banned not only from the magazine, but from classes as well."

The story must be less known than Alexander thought, because a hum of disapproval raises from the crowd.

"Yeah," Alexander agrees. "This decision also means that professors can't talk about PDS biology or PDS-specific laws and restrictions, but who cares, right? It's better to have ignorant students than free-thinking ones." Even though he's rehearsed the speech quite a few times, he can't prevent his voice from shaking with indignation and disgust. He might haven't been too fond of his fellow students back when King's College was his university, but he always had the utmost respect for the institution. Looks like the respect was completely misplaced. "And if a university, a place that should do everything in its power to encourage freedom of speech and thinking, and promote open discussions about the most pressing issues of our time, is making this kind of decisions, you can imagine how bad the situation is everywhere else." He frowns. "Actually, you don't have to imagine shit. This is your reality. You already know what it's like to hide not only what you're thinking, but who you are. You know what it's like to live in fear of some stranger swearing you were looking at them wrong, or deciding that the reason you don't like wearing make up is that you're a terrorist, and getting you sent away because of it. You know what it's like to bite back your words and let people stomp all over you because the alternative is a lot worse. You've done it a hundred times already."

His audience starts murmuring amongst themselves, and Alexander sees his own desire for vindication reflected in their eyes. He wonders what they'd think if they knew Laurens – a living – was responsible for a huge part of this speech. Then again, after seeing the way they were cheering at him earlier he's pretty sure they wouldn't mind.

"But not today," Alexander resumes talking, his tone and composure growing more hopeful, more self-assured. "Today we stand together, and we make noise together. It's time for us to talk and for them to listen. Because there's so much we want to say, am I right?" More and more voices rise to agree with him, some just expressing their approval, others shouting their need for respect, acceptance, fairer laws. Alexander doesn't know a single one of them and yet he can't help wishing with all his heart that they'll get whatever they're asking for. "That's right! And this is only the beginning. You being here, it's not just about today. It's not just about us. Because people who feel the same way as you and me but are too afraid to get out there are going to see us, and they're going to know we're fighting for them. Maybe it'll give them the strength to fight for us, too. The organization Second Chance is hosting a march for PDS rights next month – let's make sure we're twice as much there as we are today, alright?" More cheering. These people _want_ to get shit done, Alexander realizes, they're just looking for a way to do it. He likes it – nay, he loves it. These are the kind of people he can work with. "But going back to today's main issue for a second... We've already started collecting signatures to lift the board's ban, and I'm sure if everyone who showed up here signs we're going to win that battle. We're more than we even know, and we're stronger than their hate and fear. I mean, let's be real – if death couldn't keep us down, what chances do the living have?" Predictably, the crowd roars, and Alexander can't keep a satisfied smile from spreading on his face. This protest might be an almost insignificant step in the road to equal rights, but it sure as hell feels good to see people get so pumped by his words. "We've had enough of people telling us what we can and can't do. It's time for them to be afraid of _us_. We're going to rise again!"

His conclusion is welcomed with warm approval by the crowd – less so by the police officers lining the perimeter of the quad, but Alexander isn't trying to impress them. Eliza is right in front of him, umbrella awkwardly perched between her elbow and shoulder so that she can clap her hands in earnest, and Angelica has caught up with her at some point during Alexander's speech and is now yelling: "Damn right we are!" at the top of her lungs.

Alexander feels so blessed to have such kickass ladies in his life.

On the downside, Washington is still nowhere to be seen. Even Lafayette is starting to look worried. "Do you think something happened to him?" he asks as soon as Alexander brings him up.

"Maybe he decided it just wasn't worth it," Alexander replies, feeling a little callous.

Mulligan glares at him, but it's Lafayette who counters: "I told you, he's not going to bail on us if he can help it. Besides, it's a bit late for that. His name was on the fliers, remember?"

That's actually a good point. "Fine, whatever you say," Alexander caves. "In any case, he'd better turn up soon. We've only got Angelica's speech before it's time for our PDS speakers to share their experiences, and Washington isn't exactly going to fit in with them."

"I'll try calling him again," Lafayette decides, stepping away to find someplace quieter.

"So I hear it's my turn to speak?" Angelica asks, materializing next to Alexander. She looks way too pleased when he starts. "Laurens told me Washington is MIA," she explains. "You sure you want me to go in after you? I wouldn't want to make you look too bad."

"Ha! Trust me, I did my best to avoid that, but it looks like we have no other choice." He hands her the microphone and takes a step back. "Floor's all yours, ma'am."

She flips her head dramatically, sending the mass of her dark braids back and away from her face, clears her throat, and starts speaking.

"Hey, everyone!" she opens. She looks a little stunned when her audience hollers back at her. "Woah. Sorry, I'm so not used to addressing so many people all at once. Which is just one more reason why when I was first asked me to come give a speech here, I refused." Her face scrunches up. "Well, that's not quite true. My friends asked me at a New Year's party, so I was too buzzed to say no."

A few laughs rise from the crowd. Angelica's hand tightens around the microphone.

"But a couple of days later, when I was finally sober and past the hangover, I started having second thoughts. And not just because I'm better at one-on-one debates than at speaking to such big crowds. Mostly, I felt like I had no right to come here and talk to you about fighting for your rights. Because yes, I run one of the few PDS-friendly bars in the city..."

Laurens and Mulligan start cheering at the mention of the Archive, and most of the audience follows. That's when Alexander notices that most of the non-student attendance at the protest is made up of Angelica's clients – the regulars, but also quite a few people who attended her New Year's party and some new faces they brought with them. Seems like her crazy plan to let PDS patrons drink for free that night paid off in a way.

Angelica waits for the crowd to quiet down before carrying on: "As I was saying, I run a PDS-friendly bar – which is shaping up to become a PDS-only bar, to be honest –, and I'm a mixed race gay woman, so I do have an idea what it feels like to be made feel different and wrong. To be overlooked when you want to be noticed and harassed when you just want to mind your own business. At the same time, though, I do know it's not enough. It's just not the same. The shit most of you guys go through daily, I can't even begin to comprehend it." Her voice shakes with compassion and sorrow, and if that isn't genuine she's the best actress Alexander has ever seen. "I honestly don't know what I would do if I was separated from my sisters by something as ludicrous and unfair as the travel ban for PDS sufferers, for example. But it happened to a friend of mine. He's got a shitload of younger siblings, and parents who love him, and he hasn't been reunited with his whole family once since before his death because they can't afford to come all the way to New York to see him, and he's not allowed to go see them."

Next to Alexander, Lafayette starts shuffling his feet, restless. It's clear Angelica is referring to him, Alexander just wonders whether she asked him if she could. She's usually very tactful about this kind of stuff, but why would Lafayette be so upset if he knew it was coming? Unless the whole thing is so painful to him that even though he did give Angelica permission to talk about it, hearing about it still hurts.

Laurens notices their friend's discomfort too, moves closer to him and takes his hand. _See_ , Alexander wants to tell Lafayette, _guess I could accuse you of being into Laurens now._ It's not like he and Laurens have a special relationship, they're just too impulsive and uninhibited to give a fuck what anyone else might think of them hugging, or holding hands, or even playfully kissing the other on the cheek or forehead, and if Laf doesn't realize it he doesn't know either of them as well as he'd like to think. Alexander knows this is not the best time to bring up the subject, though. Not to mention that with his luck, the remark would totally backfire and he'd end up sounding like he's jealous of the two of them holding hands. Which he can't be, because that would be irrational and ridiculous and pathetic, and Alexander isn't any of that.

He goes back to focusing on Angelica's speech. She's done speaking out against the various forms of discrimination she's seen or heard of and seems to be drawing closer to her conclusion. "So yeah, it's not like I have some illuminating speech that's going to make you guys feel better about how shitty things are," she's saying. "I wouldn't even want to – we all know the status quo sucks, and none of us should feel better until we've changed it."

Laurens and some guy in the crowd holler in approval. The two cops across from Alexander exchange an uncomfortable glance, and must have some kind of non-verbal conversation that prompts one of them to start talking into his radio.

Angelica goes on, only aware of the support – as it should be. "But I still wanted to come here and tell you how much respect I have for all of you, and how grateful to you I am. Because it was my PDS friends' determination and fearlessness that gave me the courage to come out after way too many years of lying to everyone I knew, myself included, and judging by how full this quad is today they're qualities a lot of PDS people share. You guys... God, you're all here today and you're all so beautiful. You're not afraid to show your faces, you're proud of who you are and I really believe that's going to make..."

Alexander doesn't catch the rest of the speech, because two of the cops that were lining the perimeter of the quad approach him. One hangs back, hand casually resting on the stick hanging from his belt, while the other gets uncomfortably close to Alexander and tells him in an imperious tone: "That's it, kid, we're going to have to shut this down."

"What? Why?" Alexander inquires, stunned.

The guy curls his lip, makes a vague gesture that includes the hot dog kiosk, Angelica, the quad. "This thing here, it's not good. Not good at all. You promised you were going to have a peaceful rally with a couple students."

"And what does this look like to you?" Laurens asks, prepared to go into battle mode any second. He moved by Alexander's side as soon as he saw the two cops start talking to him, and Lafayette and Mulligan followed suit so that now all four of them are facing the two policemen together. Alexander has never been too afraid to fight anyone, but he'd be lying if he said it isn't comforting to have three friends he'd trust with his life backing him up.

"Trouble," is the cop's brusque reply. "It's not just students, there's way too many... _dubious characters_ here." The way he says the two words and his wary look leave no uncertainty as to what he's referring to.

"You mean PDS sufferers," Alexander spells it out, struggling to keep his cool. "A lot of students are, you know."

"And with all due respect, officer, we never said the protest would only be open to students," Mulligan chimes in, as usual doing a much better job than Alexander at being polite to assholes.

Not that it changes anything. It never does – when it's assholes you're dealing with, no amount of patience and good-manners will ever make them see the light. "You also said it would be peaceful," the cop insists. "But all I've heard today are aggressive slogans, recriminations, and instigations to riot. That just won't do."

"Are you fucking for real?" Alexander explodes. "We're _protesting_ , you colossal waste of tax money. The fact that we're doing it peacefully doesn't mean we're going to stand here singing about sunshine and rainbows, it just means that nobody's gonna get hurt."

"You might want to watch your mouth, kid, or I'm going to have to take you in," the officer threatens.

Alexander won't have it. "We both know you have no legal right to do that," he argues.

The guy sneers. "You wouldn't believe what I have the right to do to the likes of you."

"Why are you even wasting time reasoning with them?" His partner comes in before Alexander has the chance to mess up the jerk's face. There's nothing subtle about the grip of his hand on the stick anymore. "Shut this down, _now_. That's an order."

Alexander looks behind the two cops, where the crowd is cheering at something Angelica is saying. There's hope in everyone's eyes, and something else too, a sense of belonging, and that's the saddest fucking thing Alexander has ever seen – because he knows that in a matter of minutes, that hope is going to be squashed. The way he sees it, they have two options now: they can go along with the police's outrageous demand and call off the protest, proving once again that the very existence of people like them is at the mercy of the living's whim, or they can refuse to yield, put up the kind of resistance that will probably lead to all the violence, repression and bad press they've been trying to avoid.

Either way, PDS rights are going to lose today.

Alexander won't stand for it. "An order you have no right to give," he insists, defiant.

"Let it go, Hams," Mulligan stops him, gripping his shoulder – a calming gesture, but Alexander isn't a fool. He knows his friend is ready to restrain him if need be. Mulligan's eyes don't leave the cops for a second as he concludes: "There's nothing we can do."

He's right, Alexander knows it. He's just so angry, and frustrated, and if he can't win against these cops' arrogance he can at least put up a fight, do all he can to make them pay for it. This is not just a bar fight, though, nor a heated dispute in the street. He isn't just looking out for himself now – all the beautiful brave people who came here to protest today, the police is going to turn on them too if Alexander lets things get too far. And he can't let that happen.

So he forces himself to calm down, takes a step back, and is about to tell the cops to go ahead and explain to the crowd why they deemed it fit to take their rights away on this particular occasion too, when Laurens decides to voice what Alexander is thinking. "Nothing we can do? How about I break their big entitled faces, huh?" he threatens. "It might not solve our main problem but it's guaranteed to make me feel a thousand times better."

The cops seem unfazed by his fury. "Go ahead. At this point I'm just looking for an excuse to throw your necrophiliac ass in jail," one of them has the gall to say.

"You won't be the one doing the throwing, jackass, 'cause you'll be dead," Laurens spits, taking a step forward.

Lafayette jumps in front of him before he does anything rash (well, rash _er_ ) and the most trigger-happy of the two officers starts beating him up, or worse. "We'll clear the area," he promises to the cops. "Just give us a moment."

"You already got way more moments than you deserve," is the brusque reply. "Get moving."

"You piece of..." Laurens starts, but Mulligan grabs him too with his free hand and forcibly drags him and Alexander away by their arms. Which is pretty undignified and totally unnecessary, at least in Alexander's case.

Laurens is a different story. "You let me go right now!" he whines. "Those jerks. God. I'm so gonna kill them, I don't care if..."

"Oh, shut up," Mulligan complains. "Don't you get it? They're the ones with the power. You can either suck it up or make things worse."

"I don't give a shit if I make things worse!" Laurens snaps.

It was definitely the wrong thing to say, because Mulligan's features darken. "Well, maybe you should. This is not just a chance for you to play the savior and feel good about yourself. It's our life, and you're not going to get in the way of it with your hotheadedness."

Laurens reacts as if he'd just been stung, and Alexander is as taken aback as he is. With all the effort and enthusiasm Laurens puts into the fight for PDS equality, with everything he's done to get the protest under way, it's easy to forget that he's the outsider here. Mulligan is right, though. At the end of the day, Laurens is free to get bored with the cause and give up on it whenever he likes. They can't.

Doesn't mean that it's any easier to look at the hurt in Laurens' eyes. "Come on, don't be a dick," Alexander takes his best friend's defense.

"I didn't mean it like that," Mulligan grumbles, obviously feeling bad now. Just because he was annoyed at Laurens' rashness it doesn't mean that he wanted to make him feel like shit.

"Yeah, you did. But it's okay – you're right, and I'm sorry." Laurens' tone is easygoing, and someone who didn't know him as well as Alexander and Mulligan do might even fall for it. He takes a deep breath. "So, which one of you is going to tell our audience we have to cut this short?"

Alexander would like to stay here and make sure Laurens is okay, but he doubts Lafayette will manage to hold the cops at bay for much longer. Well, he probably could, but that doesn't mean he deserves to go through that kind of trouble. Besides, Mulligan and Laurens are more likely to hash things out if he leaves them alone. So Alexader mutters an "I'll do it", shoots Mulligan a pointed look that he hopes reads clearly enough as _Talk to him_ , and goes find the mic.

Angelica has finished speaking a while ago, and in the last few minutes everyone's attention has been focused on trying to understand what's going on under the hot dog kiosk. Most of the people in the quad today have more than a few good reasons to be wary of authorities, and seeing the two cops intrude on their demonstration is probably making them suspicious at best and terrified at worst.

And now Alexander has to confirm their fears.

"Hey!... I'm sorry, may I have your attention, please?" It takes a few moments for the crowd to notice someone's back on the microphone and quiet down, but then everyone's eyes are on Alexander, eager to know what the hell is going on. Alexander can't hide the resentment in his voice as he announces: "I'm afraid we're going to have to cut this short. These gentlemen here" – he gives a nod in the policemen's direction – "feel like we're being too confrontational and want us all to go home before someone gets hurt."

As expected, the news is met with a disappointed humming from the demonstrators. Alexander catches a kid around the same age as Philip pull her father's sleeve, demanding to know what's going on. She looks downright furious when he tells her.

Alexander shakes himself and carries on: "I'm really sorry, but our hands are tied here. Thank you all for coming, you were incredible. You _are_ incredible, so keep up the good work. We're going to change the world!"

With that, he turns off the microphone and turns his back to the crowd to go help the others gather all their stuff – and to prevent himself from starting to yell about how big of a travesty this is, and that since the living don't seem to be ready to give them their rights anytime soon they should just take them. Starting by driving away these power-abusing, minority-oppressing cops.

It doesn't look like the crowd needs his encouragement, though. Since the moment they found out the protest was being shut down, people have been murmuring amongst themselves, unwilling to accept yet another blatant injustice. It doesn't take long before that feeling of helplessness, their thirst for vindication, finally explodes, and they can't take it anymore. A single voice from the middle of the crowd starts chanting, _Rise up!, Rise up!, Rise up!_ , and in just a handful of seconds pretty much everyone in the quad is joining in, shouting to the sky and the cops and everyone else who wants to make them disappear that it isn't going to be that easy.

Alexander meets a cop's eyes and sees the terror in them. _The dead are rising again_. Well, it could have been avoided this time. They just needed to show that little bit of compassion.

"Why aren't they leaving?" another officer asks, grabbing Alexander by his shirt. He doesn't look any less scared than his colleagues, but he's probably the kind of guy who gets violent when he's panicking.

If he thinks that's enough to make Alexander feel intimidated, he's about to be really disappointed. "Guess they've decided you don't get to boss them around just because you have a big stick," he shoots back, without making the slightest effort at masking his pride.

The guy takes the bait and pushes him to the ground, and in that moment the police loses what little control they had of the situation.

Because when Alexander goes down, people start rioting. For real. They charge the officers with the force of a tornado, careless of their threats and weapons, cutting through their lines with cries of victory and freedom. It seems like nothing is ever going to stop them, and for a second there they're wild and they're united and they're strong.

Then Alexander hears the first shot, and realizes that even this last-ditch attempt at reclaiming their freedom is nothing but a desperate illusion.

He struggles to his feet, his aggressor momentarily occupied with two other PDS demonstrators, and tries to assess the situation but he can't, everyone around him seems to be out of control and everything is happening so fast, too fast, so he needs to act faster. He needs to find the others, he decides, make sure they get to safety right now. Lafayette was still surrounded by cops when the fight broke, and knowing Laurens, he must be gladly risking his life in the thick of the fray.

Trying not to pay attention to the shots that are ringing out more and more often now – any of them could have gotten one of his friends, _god_ , what if he turns around and finds them on the ground, Laurens with a dark pool spreading around his head like Peter when they found him, Angelica pale and motionless and cold like the image of his mom that Alexander hasn't been able to erase from his mind since the moment he learnt about her death –, he starts walking, desperately looking for his friends and lending a hand to whomever needs it along the way.

He's just finished helping a guy stand up after a beating that dislocated his knee when he hears a familiar voice scream, the words barely recognizable in their desperation and fury. " _Don't you fucking touch her!_ "

Angelica, Alexander realizes, spinning around to look in the direction of her voice. She's being restrained by an officer twice her size while another one pushes Eliza away, and she won't stop struggling.

"I'm gonna kill you! You hear me?!" she's crying out, hysterical. "Get the fuck away from her!"

Alexander starts running to her, not knowing what he's going to do but determined to do _something_.

He never has a chance to – his desperate sprint in his friend's direction must look like a murderous charge to the three cops that intercept him, and before he knows it he's on the ground again, all three of them mercilessly beating down on him with their sticks. For the first time in years, Alexander wants to cry. It's not the beating itself that hurts, it's the feeling of utter vulnerability. He's stuck here, powerless, defenseless, until his aggressors decide what to do with him. Kill him. Cuff him and take him back to a treatment center. Leave him in the street, all his bones broken, until someone takes him to a hospital where they shoot him in the head, a mercy kill. It's their choice, and all he can do is wait for them to make a decision for him.

The worst part, though, is that right now, none of these alternatives scares him. They all seem preferable to lying here helpless, his vision a blur, the only sounds echoing in his head the cops' taunts and the vicious slamming of their sticks against his body.

So when he suddenly, mysteriously blacks out, his last sensation is one of relief.


	11. In which Alexander is dying

 starts drifting back to reality to the chilling sound of a baby screaming his lungs off at a very close distance. Jeremy, he thinks immediately. Why isn't Mrs Stevens picking him up? She's usually at his side at the first sign of stirring. Maybe the stress and impossible hours of work and motherhood are taking their toll and she's too exhausted to even hear him?

Yeah, that must be it. Looks like it falls to Alexander to go check on the baby, then. He doubts his father is going to be of any help – assuming he even came home tonight. Alexander just hopes nobody notices. Jeremy's parents have made it perfectly clear that they don't want him around the baby unsupervised, and no amount of apologies and good reasons is going to save him from punishment if they catch him in direct violation of the rule.

He stirs, makes to get up, and notices he's not on the couch at the Stevens'.

God, of course. He's not a kid relying on the kindness of his mother's friends anymore, he's an adult. Yes, he's an adult and he lives with his own friends now, and he was at a demonstration at King's College when...

He jumps to a sitting position, ready to spring into action, to find the baby and take it to safety before it ends up becoming one more casualty of this madness.

That's when he realizes he's not at King's College anymore. He's sitting in a crowded hallway – a hospital's waiting room, judging by the uncomfortable seats and the posters on the walls. And the wailing baby hasn't been abandoned in the middle of the quad, it's safely cradled in its mother's arms. A few more seconds of rocking and it quiets down, starts laughing even. Alexander breathes a sigh of relief.

With the wailing dying down, other sounds become clearer: the nurses' announcements on the intercom, the wheels of a gurney rolling on the smooth floor, the whispered chatting of the man and woman two seats across – either living or just as good as Mulligan with make-up. With his heightened senses, Alexander could probably hear their heartbeat, but he doesn't have the energy to focus on them long enough to do that.

Besides, something else attracts his attention.

"I'm sorry, but the rules are the rules. We have to take care of the patients in serious conditions first."

"He's been unconscious for over an hour, how is that _not serious_?" someone is arguing, and Alexander recognizes the voice before he understands they're talking about him.

"Laurens..." he tries to call, but his voice isn't really cooperating and his friend is too far from him to hear.

"He's PDS," the guy who spoke before – a nurse, Alexander guesses – is arguing. "Unconsciousness isn't considered a life-threatening condition."

"Are you kidding me? It's _because_ he's PDS that you should do something!" Laurens explodes. As much as someone who's still trying to keep his voice low so as not to disturb the other twenty or so people in the room can explode, at least. "You can't check his vitals, how are you even sure he's still...?" His voice breaks, and Alexander feels something tight and warm in his chest.

"Please calm down, sir. It says here that your friend has no sign of head trauma, so there's no reason for you to be worried."

"No reason my ass! You weren't there, you didn't see how..."

"Laurens!" Alexander finally manages, voice still hoarse but loud enough to be heard this time.

The nurse sees him and raises an eyebrow at Laurens, a silent _I told you so_ , but Laurens isn't even looking at him anymore. He's on Alexander in a second, checking his eyes and probing him and being an all-around douchebag doctor. "Alexander, shit. Are you okay?"

"Yeah... _ow!_... Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, you can stop groping me," he protests, pushing his overeager friend away.

He expected Laurens to joke back; instead, he complies in an instant. "Sorry, sorry, of course. You're right." He sits down next to Alexander, and only then does Alexander have the time to take in the dark bruise spreading around his left eye. Looks like he didn't leave the protest unscathed, either – though considering the turn his conversation with the nurse was taking, Alexander isn't ready to rule out the possibility that he got it from someone from the medical staff instead. "It's just, it's been hell. You've been unconscious for almost two hours, we were all freaking out here."

"All?" Alexander latches onto the single word like a lifeboat. "Is everyone else alright too?"

Laurens shrugs. "More or less. Laf managed to get shot in the chest – a deliberate move, he says. Nothing serious, but it did get him moved right at the front of the queue, the bastard. And Angelica is just a little banged up."

Alexander's stomach drops, his mind already filling with dreadful images of blood and bullets and broken bones. Laf was shot? How can Laurens tell him something like that with such nonchalance? And Angelica... She didn't even want to come to the protest, she wouldn't be here right now if Alexander hadn't asked her to give a speech. What's he going to do if she's seriously injured? Or worse?

No, he tells himself, Laurens said they're okay. He wouldn't lie about something like that, would he?

Either way, Alexander can't sit here doing nothing. "Will you take me to them?" he pleads.

"Sure," Laurens promptly agrees. "We can go look for them as soon as we're finished here."

Yeah, that's not good enough. "No, come on, I want to go right now."

Laurens shakes his head. "Uh-huh, no way. You still have to get checked."

"No I don't," Alexander counters. Laurens stares at him expectantly, like he's waiting for him to at least explain why, and Alexander can't help finding it exasperating. "Seriously? I'm PDS. If I didn't get a bullet to my head, I'm gonna be fine." _And I'd rather do without the half hour in the hands of strange doctors_ , he thinks, but doesn't say it out loud.

Laurens still won't have it. "Didn't you hear a word I just said? You've scared the shit out of me. Of everyone."

"Yes, and I'm sorry for that, but I'm okay. Really," Alexander insists. When his friend doesn't relent he gets up, seriously annoyed now. "Whatever. _I'm_ going, you stay here if you like."

"Don't even think..." Laurens starts, and he tries to grab Alexander by his arm, to stop him, but Alexander dodges him and prepares to rush out. No way he's wasting his time here when two of the people he cares about the most are suffering just a few halls away. "We thought we lost you," Laurens adds, sadly, weakly, a confession and a plea at the same time.

Alexander stops.

He knows the feeling all too well – after all, one way or another he's lost every single person he's cared about before the last month or so. One would think his skin should have thickened by now, but it hasn't. If anything, knowing how fragile life and relationships are, how everyone around him can be there one day and gone the next, has made him all the more wary of loss. Of death.

He imagines himself lying in the middle of the quad at King's College, unmoving, unconscious, his arms blotted with bruises and scars that will never hurt, but will never heal either. He imagines his friends finding him like that, looking like a corpse in every way, and thinking the worst. He imagines the anguish and worry in their eyes, the rush to get him to a hospital, to try and do something, anything, to have him back. He imagines Laurens sitting alone with him for the longest, most painful minutes, no one and nothing to distract him from his fears.

He sits back.

"Thank you," Laurens says, and it's little more than a whisper, but the relief and gratitude are evident in his eyes. 

"Thank _you_ ," Alexander shoots back, and rests his head against his friend's shoulder. He remembers something else, then. "What about the shots we heard?" he ventures to ask. He's a little afraid of the answer he'll get, but he has to know. "How many casualties were there?"

Laurens' stare is unwavering, the indignation in his voice almost palpable. "Four, last I heard. Three protesters, all PDS, and one cop."

Alexander closes his eyes, lets the rush of feelings wash over him. Grief. Anger. Guilt. All their work and good intentions, and they only brought more death and heartbreak to the PDS community. Not to mention the shit they're going to get now that an officer was allegedly killed by rioting zombies while on duty. They tried to make nice and play by the rules, and nobody cared. It's like the guy at the diner on Lexington said – they're PDS and they're trying to be heard, and no matter what means they choose to employ, they're going to be seen as criminals for it.

About forty more minutes go by before Alexander's name is called, and he steps into the small emergency room where he's supposed to get his physical. All the medical equipment and the strong smell of antiseptic almost send him into a panic, but he forces himself to stay calm. _You're fine_ , he tells himself. _You're not at the treatment center, it's just an emergency room. It's all going to be fine_.

"Good evening," a doctor welcomes him. Her tone is sweet, but she doesn't waste time with pleasantries. "Take your shirt off and lie down, please."

Alexander complies with the request, trying to ignore how vulnerable it makes him feel. On retrospect, he kinda wishes he'd asked Laurens to come inside with him.

There are a few new bruises on his arms, dark bumps he inspected with annoyed resignation while he was waiting for his turn. Even though they don't hurt, his body has lost most of its ability to repair itself on its own when he died so he's going to have to live with them for a pretty long while. Those are nothing compared to the marks that he unveils when he lifts his shirt, though.

Even the doctor sighs sympathetically when she sees them. "You were at the King's College demonstration too, right?" she inquires.

Alexander nods, unable to look away from the mess on his own body. Where the skin used to be smooth and pale, now it's swollen and dark with bruises – black, blue, purplish marks that start from his shoulders and go all the way down to his lower belly. If he took his pants off as well, he could probably keep tracing them on his hipbones, thighs, legs.

He draws in a shaky breath. A long time is going to pass before they disappear, months he'll spend unable to look at himself without being reminded of how powerless he is against any living who wants to wrong him. He wonders if the cops thought of it when they were beating him up, whether there was more to their cruel persistence than just blind fury and fear. Maybe they wanted to leave him with marks that would haunt him long after they're not a direct threat to him anymore.

"They'll heal," the doctor promises, a sincere but ultimately empty reassurance. "Eventually. There's actually a new experimental therapy that's been..."

"Thanks, but I don't think I'm interested," Alexander cuts her off. "I want to keep them as long as possible."

It'll be a reminder, alright. A reminder he has every reason to fight.

The doctor looks at him curiously, but is respectful enough not to say anything. "Lie down, please," she requests instead.

Alexander shakes himself and lies down on the bed.

The check-up is quick and businesslike – not that Alexander is complaining. To the contrary, he doesn't want to stay in the room a second longer than it's strictly necessary. After the treatment center, he feels he has spent enough time in a clinic for two lifetimes.

He's both relieved and annoyed when the doctor tells him he's going to be fine, the only reason he was unconscious is that he was tasered and it might take a long time but his bruises will eventually heal on their own, as will his two cracked ribs. As predicted, this was nothing but a waste of time.

"Let me know if you start coughing up blood, though," the doctor recommends. "That would mean there's been some complications – nothing that would put you in serious danger, but it might make your everyday life a great deal more uncomfortable."

Alexander promises he will, because he knows it's more appropriate than starting to argue with her that his life being just 'uncomfortable' would be a huge step forward for him, and leaves the room to finally go find his friends.

They meet at admittance, where Angelica and Lafayette are taking care of some paperwork and Alexander is supposed to do the same. Angelica is wearing an arm brace, but they both seem to be doing fine all things considered. Most importantly, they're alive and they're here, and for a second that's enough to make Alexander forget everything that went wrong today.

"Look who's finally decided to wake up," Mulligan greets him. He's the only one who seems to have escaped the whole mess unscathed – even Eliza, who's standing next to her sister in a mixture of loving concern and righteous fury, has a few nasty-looking bruises on her arms and cheekbone. Knowing Mulligan, he probably stood back to try and help the injured instead of charging the enemy guns blazing and risk making things even worse. He's always been the most level-headed of them. Which, granted, isn't saying much.

Alexander doesn't get a chance to respond to his remark, because Lafayette is on him in a second, holding him so tight that Alexander is really glad he doesn't need to breathe anymore.

" _Dieu merci_ , _tu vas bien_ ," Lafayette breathes out, relief almost tangible in his voice. Then he pulls back abruptly. " _Tu_ vas _bien, oui_? _Ciel_ , did I hurt you? I mean I know pain isn't really a problem for us, but Laurens said you might have broken ribs _ou quelque chose comme ça_ and I don't want to..."

Alexander shuts him up by pulling him in and squeezing him even harder, broken ribs be damned. He's seen his friend freak out before, but it was never quite like this. It was never about Alexander before. As much as he hates to think that he got Lafayette this worried, it's good to know there's someone who cares about him. Who would be upset if he died. Nobody was when it happened last time.

"It's okay," he whispers into his friend's shoulder. "I'm okay, I'm here."

It takes Lafayette a few moments to finally relax and return the hug. "Don't you _dare_ do that ever again," he mutters against Alexander's ear, managing to sound extremely commanding for someone who was blabbering hysterically just shy of twenty seconds ago.

Alexander snorts. "And here I was looking forward to the next evening I can spend in a taser-induced coma," he quips, finally letting go of his friend. "How about you, huh? I heard you jumped in front of a gun or some shit. Trying to leave us so soon?"

" _Bien sur que non!_ " Lafayette denies. "I just figured, better the bullet ended up in my chest than in some living's, or in somebody's head."

"I'm seriously attracted to you right now," Alexander says, only half-joking, and Lafayette grins and blows him a kiss.

It's Angelica's turn to check on Alexander, then. "Nice to see you still standing," she tells him with a broad smile that betrays her solicitude. "You feeling alright?"

Alexander is about to dismiss her concern, but then he realizes something. He is most definitely not alright, and he doesn't feel like lying about it. "Physically, yeah. Can't believe all our hard work ended up doing more damage than good, though."

"You're not blaming yourself, are you?" Eliza asks, appalled. "You were all amazing. You inspired those people, made them realize they are not alone, no matter what everyone else tells them."

"Yeah, and look what good it did them. There's a hall jam-packed with people in need of care over there, not to mention the three that are already dead."

"Four," Mulligan supplies.

"What?"

"They found one more victim. Well, two actually, a protester and another cop. And about a dozen have been arrested."

"Wonderful," Alexander sighs, disheartened, and throws a meaningful glance at Eliza, a silent _I told you so_.

She won't have it. "Don't give me that look! I'm not stupid, alright? I know the protest didn't go well. It was a tragedy, actually," she declares, voice firm in spite of her heartbreak. "All I'm saying is it wasn't your fault that things fell apart like they did. You did everything by the book, and we'd all be going home safe and happy right now if the officers on duty had been half as civil as you guys were."

"I know, you're right," Alexander concedes. "It's not like the public opinion is going to care, though."

"Believe me, they are," Angelica interjects. "We already have an attack plan, Eliza and I, and NYPD is not going to look too good when we're done with it. We're going to raise hell."

"And that's why you don't cross the Schuyler sisters, ever," Laurens laughs, more out of affectionate pride than amusement. He hands Alexander a form, then, explains: "I got this for you at the desk since you didn't look like you were going there any time soon. You're supposed to fill it out and give it back to Lisa there."

Alexander accepts it with a thank you and retreats to the nearest free seat to take care of it.

It's the first medical form he's had to fill out since the treatment center, and it seems to be way more up-to-date with the PDS situation than the one they gave him at the police station where he had to give a statement about Peter's death. For instance, next to box for his date of birth it asks to specify his age of death, which is the age his mind and body will be stuck to even when he's 60 – in Alexander's case, 24. On retrospect, it might be a good thing he and Angelica never really got together. If he's thinking long-term, he should probably try dating other PDS people. It would make the no aging thing a great deal less awkward.

He leaves the _Date of Rising_ box blank, because somehow when he stumbled out of his grave with a sudden new taste for brains he didn't think to grab a newspaper and check what day it was. Insurance is no problem, thankfully – all PDS sufferers are granted a year of free healthcare starting the day of their release from a treatment center, one of the very few good choices that have been made about the PDS situation. Not that there were many alternatives, since finding a job with decent pay is so hard and the daily medication they have to get is pretty expensive.

Only one field gives him pause. "Who should I put in as my emergency contact?" he asks Laurens, who came to sit next to him to finish filling out his own stack of paperwork.

"I'm offended that you even have to think about it," his friend replies, looking up at Alexander with a wounded air about him.

Alexander smirks. "You know, I did consider you," he admits. "For like a second. Then I came to my senses."

"Seriously? What's wrong with me?" Laurens whines. "I'd be a wonderful emergency contact, just so you know. I'd put all the other emergency contacts to shame. Years from now, when we are all dead and gone, I'll still be remembered as the most..."

"I'm sure that's true," Alexander cuts him off. "Still, let's be real. The next time I end up here, you'll most likely be hospitalized in the bed right next to mine."

Laurens mulls over his argumentation for a few seconds. Then: "Okay, fine," he agrees reluctantly. "I highly suggest you don't give Laf this burden, though. He'll risk a heart attack every time his phone rings, spend the rest of eternity worried sick that he's going to get a call telling him that you're on life support or that he needs to come identify your dead body."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I was leaning toward Mulligan," Alexander reveals.

"Mm, okay, I guess he'll do," Laurens approves with an air of importance. As if he were the expert on picking emergency contacts and Alexander were just desperate for his seal of approval. Then again Alexander is the one who asked for his opinion, so he kind of brought it on himself this time. "Of course, you better hope he doesn't get a call about you when he's in the middle of something, or you'll never hear the end of it," Laurens adds knowingly.

Alexander rolls his eyes. "Let's hear it, then, smartass. Who's _your_ emergency contact?"

"My dad," Laurens replies, dry. "Guess I should get around to changing that. At this point he hasn't seen me in so long that if they asked him to identify my body he'd probably be like, _That? That's not my son, Jack is an acne-ridden teenager_."

"I'm sorry," Alexander says. The last thing he wanted was to bring up more shit for his friend. God knows he doesn't need it after the day they've all had.

Laurens shrugs, though. "Don't be. It's all part of growing up, isn't it? You get to choose your own family." He turns to Mulligan then, shouts: "Yo Mulls, will you be our new dad?"

Mulligan looks horrified, but he does come closer. Probably to have as few people as possible hear the conversation, Alexander reckons. "If this is a sex thing, I swear I'm moving out and changing my name. You'll never hear from me again," he threatens.

Alexander and Laurens both burst into laughter. "It's not," they finally manage to explain. "We just want you as our emergency contact."

The look of utter relief on Mulligan's face almost sends Alexander in another fit of giggles. "Oh, thank god," he says, starting to breathe again. He considers it for a quick moment before nodding. "Sure, why not? Just don't go stirrin' up too much trouble, I have better things to do than running in and out of the hospital 'cause you two jackasses keep getting into fights."

"Yes, sir," Laurens promises, at the same time as Alexander says: "Thanks, we'll make you proud."

Mulligan shakes his head slowly and walks away in a theatrical show of exasperation, but he isn't fooling anyone – Alexander noticed the amused affection in his eyes. He thinks.

He's following Mulligan with his eyes and Mulligan is walking back to the others, and that's how Alexander notices that Lafayette is talking to someone on the phone. He lights up when their eyes meet, starts coming in Alexander's direction. "Hold on, he just came out of the emergency room five minutes ago. Yes, of course he is. Do you want to talk to him?" He must get an affirmative answer because not two seconds later he hands Alexander his cellphone, mouthing: _Washington_.

_Oh, so the guy_ is _still alive_ , Alexander thinks, scornful. Just because things went to shit at the protest it doesn't mean he has forgotten about Washington turning his back on them with no explanation. In fact, his betrayal is even more outrageous in light of what happened. Maybe the cops wouldn't have been so quick to call them all terrorists and start attacking them if a respectful, living celebrity had been there to give a speech in their favor. He knows he's grasping at straws here, desperately looking for someone to blame, but the thought still makes him so sick that whatever Washington is saying goes straight over his head.

"What?" he asks, getting back to reality.

"Well, that answers my question," Washington says, and there's a hint of amusement in his voice, but he's laughing only with himself. Alexander has no idea what he's referring to, and he knows Washington isn't going to clear things up for his sake. "Feel free to take a few days off next week, then. You can come to work when you're feeling better."

Unbelievable. "Thanks for your concern, but I'm feeling great right now," Alexander retorts. "I'm afraid you're going to have to find some other way to clear your conscience."

At the other end of the line, Washington seems perplexed. "Clear my conscience? What have I..." Then it dawns on him. "Oh, right, Lafayette has yet to tell you why I was late to the demonstration. That's what you're talking about, isn't it?"

"Late? You didn't even show up," Alexander complains.

"I'm sorry," Washington apologizes. "I did come to the protest, I was just very late. I was... detained."

"Detained how?"

Washington takes a deep breath before revealing: "My car was damaged. Someone egged it, covered it in offensive graffiti and punctured all four tires. I had to call a cab, but the traffic was congealed because of the rain and by the time it got to my house the protest was well under way."

Well, shit. Now Alexander almost feels bad for thinking he'd given them the slip. Although, would it have killed him to give them a heads-up, tell them he was running late?

"You're kidding," he says, scandalized. For some reason the idea of something like this happening to a guy like Washington is more unbelievable than PDS protesters being shot with no warning just for refusing to end the demonstration and go home. That's just how fucked up things are these days.

Washington sighs, and he somehow manages to sound sad and amused at the same time. "I wish I was. Someone must have seen my name on one of your handbills and decided to show me just how disappointed in me they were," he adds, despondent.

"I guess. But you can't go back now, it'll just galvanize them," Alexander warns him. He doesn't add that the cause can't afford to lose an ally as influential as Washington, not now.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning on letting them scare me off," Washington reassures him, a noble determination in his voice. Alexander has never respected him so much. "I was actually going to change my speech, make it all the more aggrieved and openly supportive of your cause, but then I got to King's College and realized there weren't going to be any more speeches for the day."

"So you saw the riot?" Alexander asks. The image of Washington, always calm and composed, standing right in the middle of the quad while all hell broke loose around him is almost comical in its dissonance. Then again, the guy did fight in the Undead War, so Alexander's perception of him is probably very partial and flawed.

"I did," he confirms. "Although I think I escaped the worst of it. I'm the one who found you and called the ambulance on you," he reveals, almost an afterthought, and Alexander can't help finding it a little touching.

"Thank you."

"Of course." There's a few seconds of silence, of the slightly embarrassed kind, before he takes his leave: "I'll see you when you're better, then."

"See you on Monday," Alexander shoots back, somewhat scrappily. By now Washington must know he has no chance to change Alexander's mind, because he hangs up without even trying to argue with him.

There's a knowing smirk on Lafayette's face when Alexander hands him his phone back.

"What?" he asks.

Lafayette shakes his head. "Nothing, sorry. I was just thinking that for someone who spends so much time making fun of me for having an _inappropriate relationship_ with the guy, you seem to be growing closer to Washington yourself."

"Well, he's my boss," Alexander offers.

"My point exactly."

As the only one who owns a car and actually brought it to the spot, Eliza offers to drive the injured home. Alexander tries to decline, not wanting to impose himself, but he's starting to realize that in spite of her agreeable nature the girl can be just as persistent as her sister. Especially when it comes to helping people out.

"It's no trouble at all, really," she swears. "It's like three blocks over from us anyway. You're more than welcome to tag along."

"Just as long as you remember I have shotgun for life," Angelica steps in, smug.

Alexander is about to reply who cares, it's not like he's so immature that he'll start arguing with her about such childish things, when Laurens scoffs. "Ha ha, very funny. We all know that's not a thing."

"My sister's car, my rules."

"Eliza, tell her she can't do that. She _has_ to call shotgun every single time, otherwise there's no point."

"Please don't drag me into this."

"Fine. Shotgun. You happy now?"

"What? No, that's not fair, you didn't say we were doing it yet!"

"Aw, what you gonna do about it, big boy? Cry?"

Yep. These are the people Alexander has chosen to love.

Thankfully, Eliza decides to step in before Laurens starts pulling Angelica's braids or something. "That's it, I'm making an executive decision," she announces. She holds the door of her light blue sedan open and looks Alexander right in the eye. "I'm thinking you should get the front seat."

"What?!" Laurens asks, scandalized.

"Really, Sis?" Angelica complains. "You kicking me out of _my_ seat?"

Eliza shrugs. "The front seat's for grown-ups. You two will be allowed there as soon as you start acting like ones."

Alexander sniggers, and gets the stink eye from both Angelica and Laurens for it. Normally he'd be terrified (well, by Angelica's. He knows from experience that it's physically impossible for Laurens to stay mad at him for more than ten minutes), but with Eliza's blessing he feels he can slide into the front seat without fearing retaliation.

He likes being in Eliza's car, he decides. It has a nice flowery smell, the seat is clean and comfortable and Eliza is the kind of driver that keeps her calm even in Manhattan's Saturday evening traffic. Alexander is about to let the steady motion and repetitive hum of the engine lull him to sleep when he notices a stack of piano sheets on the dashboard.

"How's Philip doing?" he asks. "I haven't seen him since New Year."

Weird thing to say, he immediately realizes. Of course he hasn't seen the kid, it's not like he has any reason to. He wouldn't even say he's friends with his mother – even though he likes Eliza just fine, they only ever hang out because of Angelica. He doesn't even know if she's going back to Albany any time soon or if at this point she's here to stay.

Eliza smiles politely, eyes still on the road. "Pretty good, thank you. He's staying at a schoolmate's house tonight – I knew I'd have my hands full babysitting his aunt this weekend."

"What did you just say?" Angelica's voice rises from the back.

"Nothing," Eliza replies a little too quickly. "Get some rest, you need it."

Alexander waits for Angelica to finish grumbling her indecipherable response before hazarding: "Can I ask you a question, even if it's kinda personal?"

"Go ahead," Eliza encourages him. "No harm in just asking."

He nods, tries to find the right words. What is it about this girl that always makes it so hard for him to speak to her? "Well, it's just... back before I even met you, Angelica mentioned to me that you and Philip lived in Albany with your parents. And she was extra happy you were finally coming to visit her during the holidays. So I was wondering..."

"What the heck are we still doing here?" Eliza asks, amused.

"Sort of," he admits. "I mean, I'm glad you're here – especially today – but I can't help being curious."

For a long moment, Eliza stays silent. Alexander is about to apologize, ask her to forget about it, when she finally tells him: "We used to live here a few years ago. Albany was never a permanent thing for me, I only... moved there after Philip and my partner died. I just, I needed to be with my parents then." A shadow passes over her features, and Alexander can only imagine how rough those years must have been on her. Her tone, though, is unexpectedly light when she concludes: "But Philip is back now, and this city is our home, so I reckoned it was time we moved back."

There's so many things Alexander still wants to know. What kind of guy was her partner? What happened to him and Philip? And does she know for sure that he died after the Rising, like Laf said? Or is she still silently hoping he'll turn up in some treatment center and her family will be reunited?

But he looks at Eliza, at the quiet strength with which she carries her burden, and realizes he has no right to start bombing her with questions about her private life and grief just because he's curious about it.

"Well, I'm glad you did," he says instead, and he's really proud of his self-restraint. He kinda wishes Burr were here to see him now – not that he needs the guy's approval, he'd just like to rub it in his face. Alexander can be tactful, if the person he's talking to deserves it. "I see how much happier Angelica is with you around, and our block is in desperate need of more Schuyler badassery."

Eliza raises a perplexed eyebrow at his colorful choice of words, but doesn't comment on it. "Thank you," she just says. She throws a strange glance at him then, asks with a little hesitation: "I guess it's my turn to ask you a question now?"

Alexander grins. "Be my guest. I have no secrets."

"Oh, no, it's not that kind of question," she clarifies, and even in the traitorous glow of the streetlights Alexander is pretty sure he sees her blush. "It's more of a favor, actually. I don't know if Angelica mentioned it to you, but I just started a support group for people with PDS family members. You know, to help them adjust to their new reality, come to terms with all the changes in their loved ones and understand how they can be supportive to them."

"It sounds like a really great idea," Alexander says, and he means it. Most of the PDS-related support groups and dedicated telephone lines he's had any experience with were just dreadful, so it's encouraging to know not everyone in the field is as awful as the people he's spoken with. Some are even as good as Eliza.

She smiles, her eyes looking at something distant for a moment. "It is. Of course I've just started so it's going to take me a while to see if it's really helpful and people are interested, but if they are, I would love for you to come talk there once or twice. If you have time and feel up for it, of course."

"Oh, sure, I'd be honored to," Alexander accepts immediately. He can't help being a little incredulous, though. "But why would you want _me_ to come?"

"I loved your speech at the protest," Eliza says candidly. "And Angelica adores you, she keeps telling me you're the only one who knows almost as much as she does about civil rights and current politics. So when I started considering asking someone PDS to come talk to our group, you were the first person that came to mind."

Well, that sounds about right. Alexander nods. "Let me know when you'd like to have me."

"I will," Eliza promises. "Thank you, Alexander."

"Anytime."

 

"Shit!"

Alexander drops the syringe gun he was trying to inject himself with. The cartridge with his medication dislodges on impact and starts rolling all across the floor.

Laurens looks up from his textbook. "You need help with that?" he offers.

Alexander shakes his head. "Thanks, I got it."

He picks everything up, re-inserts the medication in its slot, and makes another attempt at raising the gun over his head to get to the hole at the top of his spine. It fails. For some reason his right arm refuses to do the same basic movement it's done every day since Alexander's release from the treatment center, and for all his twisting and bending he knows he's never going to be able to inject himself using his left arm. The gun was simply not designed for left-handed users – yet another discrimination that Alexander has had to come to terms with a while ago.

Laurens' disapproving stare from the other side of the room isn't doing anything to make Alexander feel better about himself. "What?" he snaps when he can't take it anymore.

"Oh, nothing," Laurens backs down, pretending to start looking at his book again. "I was just thinking it wouldn't take me more than ten seconds to give you your shot, but you said you got it, so."

"Damn right I do," Alexander maintains through gritted teeth. Of course his arm chooses that exact moment to fail him, and he loses his grip on the syringe gun again. At least it lands on his bed this time – small victory, but he'll take it.

Laurens doesn't seem to share his positive outlook on the situation. "Seriously, Hams, why'd you have to be so..."

"I've always done this myself," Alexander cuts him off. "Always. What's changed all of a sudden?"

"What's changed is you were beaten up within an inch of your life," Laurens reminds him. "Probably messed up your arm in some way."

That was Alexander's first guess too, of course. He just didn't want to admit it because... because frankly, it's too much. "Great. So on top of everything, those jerks have made me unable to take care of myself now," he groans, and he doesn't even care how peevish he sounds.

"Could have been worse," Laurens points out. Quite unhelpfully, in Alexander's opinion. So he didn't get a bullet in the head like some of the more unlucky participants in their ill-fated demonstration. What's he supposed to do, send the cops a thank you card for it?

"Yeah, well, this still sucks."

"I know," Laurens agrees, and sighs. His voice is soft as he asks one more time: "So can I give you a hand?"

Alexander caves. "Sure, whatever."

He lets his friend take the gun from his hand and waits for him to position himself behind Alexander's back. It's probably not the most orthodox way to do this, patient and doctor sitting and kneeling respectively on the same bed, no safe distance between them and nobody else around to run to Laurens' rescue in case Alexander goes berserk on him. Alexander is fine with it, though. The less the procedure looks like it did at the treatment center, the easier it's going to be for him to get through it.

"It'll just take a second, alright?" Laurens reassures him. As if this were Alexander's first shot. He's about to laugh at him when he realizes – his roommate is just as unsettled as he is. Maybe even more so. The reassurances are for both their sakes.

It sounds ridiculous, because Alexander has seen time and time again the confident way Laurens approaches Lafayette and Mulligan, the experienced way he holds them down even when they're thrashing around and clawing at him. There's no way he's afraid of Alexander, who's even smaller than he is. And yet. There's no mistaking the hesitation in Laurens' hands as they move to uncover the hole at the top of Alexander's spine, the tremble of fear in his breathing. Maybe it's just that he doesn't know what to expect.

Alexander decides that his friend needs some encouragement as well. "Don't worry, I don't usually bite. I don't get those kinds of flashbacks."

"No, huh? What kinds of flashbacks do you get?" Laurens asks, genuinely curious, but Alexander doesn't want to think about them, not seconds before getting his shot and being plunged into those horrors.

So instead he asks: "How long have you been doing this? Medicating people like me?"

The change of subject was anything but subtle, yet Laurens doesn't say anything about it. "Why, are you worried the inexperienced student will fuck up in some way?" he jokes instead. Well, Alexander thinks he's joking. He would be lying if he said he didn't hear the lightest hint of hurt in Laurens' voice.

"No, man, I'm just curious. I seriously doubt they taught you how to do it in college and the only civilians getting trained are the ones with PDS relatives, so..." 

"Trained," Laurens huffs, amused and more than a little scornful. "It's not like it's so hard. Thank god, I might add, 'cause those training programs are total BS."

"So you took one of those?"

Laurens shakes his head. "No, I..." He clicks his tongue, nervous again all of a sudden. "Our housekeeper, her sister was a nurse. _Is_ a nurse, she's still alive. She... she worked in one of the first hospitals that started taking in rabids, trying to cure them instead of putting them down. Before treatment centers were established, you know?"

Alexander knows. As bad as his experience with treatment centers was, he knows it was a walk in the park compared to the kind of messed up stuff that happened in those hospitals. The PDS sufferers that ended up there were treated like lab rats, taken apart and injected with all sorts of crap and tortured by vengeful doctors.

"I was supposed to be finishing college at the time," Laurens carries on, "but I... Let's just say I was lacking motivation. So our housekeeper suggested I went up to her sister's workplace and lent a hand. Just as long as it took to get my head out of my ass and get back on track."

"Wait. So you worked in one of those places?" Alexander asks, and he can't help recoiling, turning to look his roommate in the eye. Just a little twist of fate and he could have been one of the unlucky ones. He could have ended up tied on a rack, with Laurens as his torturer instead of his friend.

The thought almost makes him sick.

"More like volunteered," Laurens replies, sounding awfully blasé about the whole thing. He doesn't seem to have noticed Alexander's discomfort. "And they only made me do the basic stuff – cleaning up, mostly. Only later did I start giving patients food and medicine, and only under a nurse's supervision. I mean, technically I wasn't allowed to do that either, but it's not like anyone cared at the time. Every little help counted, no matter how illegal it was."

"How was it?" Alexander wants – needs – to know.

Laurens thinks about it for a moment before confessing: "Strange." He looks down at the syringe gun he's still holding, his eyes a thousand miles away. "You know, on one hand we felt like the good guys – we were the ones trying to help those people while everyone else was going up in arms against them. We were brave, we were heroes. On the other, though... We were making experiments. On human beings that... well, they weren't really alive, but they still could feel a shitload of the terrible things we did to them. They starved, and threw up, and lost consciousness, and they were so afraid, each and every one of them. That was the worst part, I think. They were afraid _all the time_." His voice wavers on those last few words. "And I kept telling myself it was necessary, it was all for the greater good, but honestly... it was hard to imagine a good greater than the pain we were inflicting."

Alexander breathes a sigh of relief. Laurens isn't one of them, he never was. Of course, how could Alexander ever doubt him?

"So how about you?" Laurens asks, shaking himself. "When did _you_ start medicating yourself?"

"Oh. Right after Peter died," Alexander replies quickly. He doesn't feel like talking anymore, nor listening, which should be a warning sign all in itself.

Then he finds himself considering how easy it would be to overpower Laurens now that they're so close and he's distracted, wondering how many hits on the floor it would take before his head cracks and the brain starts spilling out, and he knows it's high time he took his medicine.

"Mm, Laurens?" he calls. "I don't want to rush you, but you're starting to look pretty yummy to me. And not in a sexy way."

"Right. Sorry," Laurens says, straightening his back and holding up the gun once more. "Okay then, close your eyes. Or not, whatever. Just, brace yourself."

The click of the syringe gun is the last thing Alexander hears before everything around him starts fading away – the gun and his bed and Laurens' steadying hand on his back, the drawings on the walls, even the walls themselves. He's not sitting in his room anymore, he's floating into nothingness and he's _freezing_. That's a sensation he hasn't been able to forget even though he hasn't felt it in a long, long time. In fact, he hasn't felt it since...

He starts struggling, panic taking hold of him. He knows where he is. It's not nothingness surrounding him, it's cold, dark water, soaking his clothes, his skin, filling his lungs, dragging him down. He can't breathe.

He doesn't need to breathe, though, right? Not since he died and came back as an undead.

Except that's ridiculous, and he knows it. That's not how death works. Death is forever, and everything else we tell ourselves is nothing more than a comforting illusion. Like the one his rapidly failing brain has cooked up for him just seconds ago – dying and coming back, going back to New York, finding a job and a family and a purpose there. It's a nice lie, but ultimately it's just that, a lie. Alexander isn't going to do anything with his life. He's going to die here, it's only a matter of seconds at this point, he's going to drown and no one will even notice he's gone. He'll just be one more body washed out on the beach in the morning, no one even bothering to come identify what's left of him before he's thrown in some ditch.

"Shh. It's okay, you're gonna be fine, it's okay."

Yeah, of course the voice in his head would say that. It's all bullshit, though. Alexander had plans, dreams, he was going to do great things, and none of that will ever happen now. He died a no one, for nothing. How is that even remotely okay?

The voice has no answer to that, of course. Good thing too, because Alexander is tired of listening to it. God, he's so tired. He's never lost faith before, never given up a chance to defy impossible odds, but this is where his winning streak comes to a screeching halt. All he can do at this point is let go, surrender to the freezing embrace of the water and let it choke him, let it take him away...

Alexander comes to in a fit of coughing, and he almost expects water to come out of his mouth and nose. It doesn't. He should be wet, too, but he isn't.

He blinks, tries to get his surroundings into focus. The bright white light of his room. The distant hum of traffic. Laurens' eyes on him, lit up with affection and concern, his arm around Alexander's shoulders. There was no voice in his head, Alexander realizes, it was just Laurens trying to talk him through the anguish, and the thought that he spent what he believed to be his last seconds mentally bickering with his best friend makes him smile a little in spite of it all.

"Oh, thank god," he breathes out, and sags back against the wall behind his bed.

"Bad flashback?" Laurens inquires, finally letting go of him. 

Alexander shrugs. "The usual."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Does he? Does he want to tell Laurens that when he does get flashbacks it's always the same, and it has nothing to do with what he should really feel guilty about – hunting people down like preys, not even hearing their desperate begging, cracking their skulls open with only one thought in his own head, _feedfeedfeedfeed_. No, even with his humanity back all Alexander Hamilton cares about is Alexander Hamilton. How the tide swept him in and dragged him to his end. How awful it was to come to the realization that that was it for him. How much he resented dying so young. How he failed _himself_ , because his ambitions are the only thing that really matters.

Sure, let's share all that with one of the best, most selfless people he knows. That will definitely win him points.

"Not really," he says, lying down and turning to his side.

Laurens doesn't pressure him into talking, and silence falls between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live!
> 
> Sorry for the huge delay, real life has been a pain and I had to re-write a lot of this chapter because the original draft I wrote a few months back didn't satisfy me at all =S On the brightside, I'm almost done with Uni so in a couple of weeks I'll have more time to write. Seriously, y'all are allowed to kick me if I don't.
> 
> If you're outraged by my leaving you hanging like this, feel free to let me know in the comments – I could be persuaded to post the next chapter early as an apology ;]


	12. In which Alexander can't sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: suicidal thoughts and mentions of depression and self-harm. Proceed with caution.

 It all comes back in a rush of confused sensations – the howl of the wind piercing his ears, its indomitable fury, ruffling up his hair and making his eyes water and then growing stronger even, so much stronger that it almost pushes him to the ground. The red sky of sunset turning a bright yellow. And then the rain, cold and merciless, crushing down on Alexander's little world with almost biblical fury. Yeah, biblical is a good way to describe it. He doesn't believe in god, but he does remember thinking then, for a brief absurd moment, that that's what it must look like when He's angry.

He remembers the people running, too, swarming like ants to take cover. They really felt like insects compared to him in that moment – probably an arrogant thought, although not a malicious one. He didn't think they were small and worthless, not at all, it's just... Right there and then, home for the first time after he went and made a better life for himself, the storm coming alive all around him, making his heart beat faster with its salty scent and staggering, ever-growing force, he couldn't help feeling like he was light years ahead of them. Like he was simply meant for _more_.

Inebriating as it was, the feeling didn't last long. The tide swept them in all the same, Alexander with his accomplishments and aspirations and hubris and his people with their humble caution. The waves destroyed the villagers' homes and Alexander's castles in the air without making much of a distinction between the two.

Being smarter than the rest of them didn't make Alexander any less fragile.

He shivers at the thought, and grabs his phone with a silent prayer on his lips. 4:16. Awesome, it's been all of twenty minutes since the last time he checked. He's never falling asleep, his phone refuses to pick up Angelica's Wi-Fi, and with nothing to distract him from his gloomy thoughts there's nothing to save him from going crazy.

Unless... unless he _makes_ himself fall asleep, he thinks, a plan starting to form in his hazy mind. He knows Laurens is hiding all sorts of medical shit in his cabinet, he must have sleeping pills too somewhere in there. Alexander just needs to get them without waking him up – a task made somewhat harder by the fact that the cabinet is hanging right above Laurens' bed, and he'll never hear the end of it if he wakes up his roommate after the day they've had. It's going to take a lot more than that for Alexander to give up, though.

As slow and careful as he can (which is a lot. He's a _predator_ , after all), he stands on his bed and leans forward just enough to get to Laurens' cabinet. He's never been more thankful that their room is so tiny. Alexander hasn't taken a peek into the chest since he and Mulligan went looking for Gal's old cover-up mousse, but considering how anal Laurens is about his stuff he guesses it shouldn't be that hard to find what he's looking for.

Except that it is, because Alexander is the most unlucky person in the world. There's no other explanation as to why the one Laurens-related place he needs to find in perfect order is also the only one where chaos seems to be reigning supreme. There's plasters everywhere, and what feels like a hundred different boxes and flacons with unpronounceable names, and even stuff that's got nothing to do with medicine – most notably, a shit ton of fliers advertising some association with a hippy name (Spring of Light, really? What is it, some sort of Wicca thing?) and what looks way too much like a voodoo doll of a little girl for Alexander's taste. Although one could probably argue that occult practices are indeed connected to medicine more often than not? Still, he never pegged Laurens for being into that.

Something else catches his attention then. He doesn't even know why – in the scary mess that is Laurens' medicine cabinet, a crumpled piece of paper hardly qualifies as a red flag. For some reason, though, Alexander picks it up, unfolds it, and reads the words someone scribbled on it in bright red permanent marker.

 

_How could anyone ever tell you_

_You were anything less than beautiful?_

_How could anyone ever tell you_

_You were anything less than whole?_

 

Your old life is gone, begin anew with us.

917 496 0238

 

Alexander frowns. He's pretty sure he read something like this before, he just can't remember when.

No, wait, he can. It was a few weeks ago, after he'd been rejected by the second or third firm he'd applied for here in New York. This PDS woman saw him sitting alone and distraught on the side of the street and handed him a note, told him to call the number if he ever needed a fresh start. She even stayed to try and comfort him with promises of some bigger design he was surely a part of, having been redeemed from the earth and all, but Alexander was so frustrated that he didn't pay much attention to her words.

He threw away the note the second he managed to shake off the woman. What he needed was a job, not a formal invitation to join a cult for sad undead daydreamers.

The real question now is what the hell is a note like that doing among Laurens' things, considering the guy's aversion to all forms of organized religion and the fact that he's still very much alive. He's the last person Alexander can imagine joining a support group for PDS sufferers with strong Christian undertones.

His investigation comes to an abrupt end when his roommate starts stirring, looks up, catches Alexander red-handed as he's frantically trying to put everything back in its place. "Hams? The heck you doing up there?"

"Shit, I'm sorry," Alexander apologizes, finally closing the cabinet and sliding down until he's sitting on his bed. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Forget about that. Why are you going through my stuff?"

"I... was searching for your diary to find out if you think that I have dreamy eyes?" Alexander tries to deflect with a joke.

Predictably, it doesn't work. Laurens sits up, frowning, and somehow manages to convey all his exasperation in a single syllable. " _Hams_."

"Sorry, okay. I was looking for sleeping pills," Alexander comes clean.

"Oh" is Laurens' soft reply. He thinks about it for a second, shakes his head. "Don't have any, sorry. I had to get rid of them before Mulligan developed a serious addiction."

It doesn't sound like he's joking, and Alexander quickly reviews every instance he remembers hearing his friend mention having trouble sleeping. He only comes up with one. "What, because of Laf?" he asks, incredulous.

"That's what he said," Laurens confirms, still a little sleepy.

"Seems a bit excessive. Granted, I only shared a room with Laf once and I was hammered, but I didn't notice him talking or walking around at all," Alexander recalls.

Laurens tilts his head in confusion, his messy curls bouncing on one side. "You slept in their room? When?"

"Uh, New Year's?" Alexander reminds him. "Mulligan got invited to some girl's apartment, and Laf offered me to crash in his bed since you and Benny were..."

"Right," Laurens interrupts him, his embarrassed blush clearly visible even in the dark. It's kind of adorable, really. And reassuring – looks like Alexander wasn't the only one to get traumatized by the incident. "Sorry about that."

Alexander scoffs. "The hell you are."

"I am!" Laurens protests. "Well, a little," he adds, trying to be cheeky. He might even have succeeded if his mouth hadn't opened in a huge yawn a second later.

Alexander grins, but his voice is gentle as he suggests: "You should probably go back to sleep."

"And risk you getting your hands on my diary and finding out I wrote that your eyes are the color of ink used to write brilliant words, of wild nights out drinking with friends, and _totally_ dreamy?" Laurens asks with a mocking smirk. "No way."

Alexander laughs, and tries not to think about how much he feels like kissing Laurens right now. Because he's totally sober, and he's not feeling alone and desperate, so he has no reason whatsoever for wanting to do that – unless, of course, he really has a crush on his best friend, with his rashness and freckles and shameless flirting and almost blindly optimistic views on everything but love. That's not a concept he can deal with at 4 am after such a terrible day, though.

"Aw, man, I knew you were super into me but I always figured it was just physical. And here you are writing poems about me like a hopeless romantic," he quips instead, because it's easier to just think of it as a game.

Laurens seems more than content with playing along. "What can I say, you're perfect, babe – body _and_ heart. I can't help wanting them both," he says, and winks.

It's all in good fun, yet it strikes a chord with Alexander. That's how he was feeling, back in the eye of the hurricane, mere minutes before the end – perfect. Untouchable. Divine, almost. Oh, how wrong he was.

Laurens must notice his sudden discomfort, because the smile dies on his lips and he asks, a thin veil of concern in his voice: "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry," Alexander shrugs it off, coming back to reality. Then, because he knows he's never going to reassure his friend if he doesn't elaborate at least a little: "It's just this flashback, I can't seem to shake it off."

"The one you had after I gave you your shot?" Laurens inquires. He seems to realize something, and asks in a lower voice: "Is that why you can't sleep?"

"I don't know," Alexander says sincerely, and he kinda feels like he's thinking out loud rather than answering the question. "It's not like it's the first time I got that flashback. It's pretty much the only one I've ever been able to get, actually. So why would it start bothering me so much just now?"

"Well, it's not like you've had the most relaxing day. Maybe it triggered something?" Laurens hazards a guess.

Alexander thinks back to the events of the afternoon – the yelling and shots and fear and  scars. "It was still better than being strapped to a chair for days at the treatment center, or spending a morning scrubbing my cousin's brains off the kitchen floor," he decides. "But okay, you might have a point."

They're both silent for a while. Then Laurens asks: "Are you sure you don't want to tell me about it?"

"I think I do, actually," Alexander admits. "I want to tell you about it. But I... don't want you thinking I'm a horrible person, and you will if I do," he realizes, and immediately regrets saying it out loud. It's way too childish, too vulnerable, and he doesn't want Laurens thinking he's trying to get his pity.

Laurens responds by laughing in his face.

"Seriously?" Alexander asks, peeved. That's the last reaction he expected.

"Sorry. Sorry, that's just..." He shakes his head, looks for the right words. "I was there during the War, alright? I saw as many bodies and blood and violence as you did. So yeah, maybe I don't know all the gory details of your particular killings but I can imagine them. I know the kind of things you've done. And I could never..."

"That makes it one of us, then," Alexander interrupts him.

Laurens frowns. "What do you mean?"

So much for trying to keep quiet. No surprise there – that's never been Alexander's MO. "I have no idea what I've done between the Rising and the treatment center. The only flashbacks I get are of the doctors trying to treat me or, even more frequently, of my own death. You wanna know why?" he asks, and hopes his own voice doesn't really sound as shaky as he's hearing it. "'cause that's the only thing I feel guilty about. I don't care about the innocents I ripped apart, I'm just pissed at myself for having to go and die and making it so much harder for me to succeed. Because that's all that matters – me." He fixes his eyes on his friend's, a challenge in them. "Now look me in the eye and tell me that's not fucked up."

Laurens holds his gaze. "It is a little fucked up," he concedes. Alexander feels himself deflate. "But it doesn't make you a horrible person. I mean, you _died_ , for fuck's sake. If there's one thing you have every right to be traumatized by, it's that."

Alexander shakes his head, unconvinced. "You know what the doctors at the treatment center say, though. Getting flashbacks of the lives you took is the first sign that the medication is working, that you're human enough to realize you've done terrible things. And I didn't. I don't. I'd still be in there if I hadn't lied about it," he concludes, and it's not the first time he's thought about it but hearing himself say it out loud is a whole other kind of horrible. He shudders.

"Yeah, but the science's still young," Laurens counters. "Every single PDS treatment is experimental, just because something works for most patients it doesn't mean it's the One True Way to getting better. You're doing great even without the splatter flashbacks, and you're most definitely not a threat to the community. Well, unless they consider your penchant for calling out their bullshit threatening," he amends with a complicit little smile.

It's an attempt at lightening the mood, and Alexander is grateful for it, truly, but he still can't let it go. "So you don't think I'm a hypocrite?"

"Why would I ever think that?" Laurens asks, and he's really surprised now.

Alexander shuts his eyes tight and forces himself to open up. "Wanna know how I died?" he asks, and his voice sounds faraway to his own ears. He swallows. "I'd just taken the bar exam and I finally had some time on my hands while I waited for the results. And I was sure I was going to pass, so I felt like celebrating for once."

"By going back to your mother's hometown," Laurens fills in the blanks.

Alexander nods. "She... she'd died there about a year after being deported, and I'd never found the time to go visit since. Didn't even know where she was buried exactly."

"I'm sorry."

Laurens' voice is full of sympathy, and Alexander smiles weakly at him, a silent _thank you_. "So you know, for once in my life I wasn't too busy studying and working and I did have enough money to go. And... well, it was still a crazy decision, but it felt right. It was the right time." He scoffs at the irony of his own affirmation. "Or so I thought, at least. I was supposed to stay there for six days, and on the fourth the hurricane stroke. Big time. I don't know if you've heard about it – it was the worst in the last two hundred years, practically wiped out half the towns on the coast."

"Yeah, I think I remember," Laurens says. "I think my parents donated some money for the victims. I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention at the time." He bites his lip. "So what? How does that make you a hypocrite?"

"You remember our speech, right? The one I gave in front of hundreds of people? I kept using the words _we_ and _us_. Insisted that we could make a better life for everyone by standing together."

"What, you don't believe that?"

"Of course I do! But I... You know what my last thought was when I died? The very last thing I remember thinking?" Alexander asks, and his mind is screaming at him to shut up, he's only going to alienate his friend if he keeps going, but he can't help himself. He needs Laurens to understand more than he fears his reaction. "I thought it couldn't possibly be true. I mean, it was one thing for all those people around me to die like that, but me? I deserved better. I deserved to make it, to live and fulfill my potential – or, if I wasn't allowed that, I should at least have gone out in a blaze of glory. Doing something meaningful, you know? I was too smart, too... good to share the fate of simple, hapless villagers." The words leave a bad taste in his mouth. Even now, he can't help thinking they're a little true. "I was a snob, really. Still am. So now I'm wondering, am I really fighting for all of my PDS brothers and sisters or just for myself? Because I thought if I had to die for the cause I'd gladly do it, but the second I heard the first shot I was running for cover." He swallows. "You're right, I see the connection now. Why I'm feeling like crap about getting that flashback today of all days. I want to be the kind of person whose ideals are bigger than himself, who's ready to sacrifice everything for the greater good, but I'm not. I wasn't before I died, and I'll never be. 'cause even after coming back, I'm still terrified of dying."

Laurens looks at him only for a moment before wondering: "And what exactly would the greater good have been in this situation?"

Alexander blinks, confused. "What?"

"If you'd died today. What good would it have been to the PDS cause?"

How does he not get it? It's not just about the protest. It's about Alexander's willingness to put everything on the line – or lack thereof, in this case. "You don't understand, I..."

"Actually, I do, Alexander," Laurens cuts him off, probably more brusquely than he intended. "Four people died today. Maybe there'll be some outrage about that, maybe there won't, and ultimately they'll be forgotten by everyone but their loved ones. Adding your name to the body count wouldn't have made any difference, except for crushing Laf and Mulligan and the Schuyler's and me." His eyes go softer then, but his voice stays firm. "So you don't have a death wish. Trust me, that's a good thing. The cause doesn't need more martyrs, it needs people as amazing and smart and determined as you to stay alive and keep fighting."

It's a beautiful sentiment, and it makes total sense, and if it were anyone else voicing it Alexander would yield, admit they're right. Coming from Laurens, though, it reeks of hypocrisy. "Look who's talking," Alexander snorts.

Laurens frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on. We both know you didn't get yourself that black eye by hanging back and whistling innocently," Alexander points out, almost an accusation. "You were right in the thick of it, and wouldn't have wanted it any other way."

"That's different."

"No it's not."

"It is!" Laurens snaps, and shakes his head in disbelief. "God, are you really comparing yourself to me?"

The words hit Alexander like a whip. It must be the billionth time he hears them, or the notion they carry with them, at least – that he's different, and not good enough. It was in the frightened eyes of the other kids back in Alphabet City, when he was the one with no dad and a mom who was in cahoots with the devil, and they'd leave in a hurry whenever he approached them to ask if he could play. It was in the mean whispers of the other students at King's College, the ones who would have flunked every single course if Alexander hadn't shared his notes with them and still somehow managed to find the audacity to throw suspicious looks at him and complain behind his back that the board was giving scholarships to just anyone now. It was in the reluctant handshake of the lawyers the moment they realized the brilliant application they'd gotten was from a PDS sufferer, and the job interview wasn't going to lead anywhere.

Laurens is nothing like those people, though, Alexander reminds himself. He's not small-minded and full of himself, and there's no way he thinks he's any better than Alexander – if anything, he almost seems to think _too much_ of him sometimes.

That's when he understands what Laurens actually meant. Too bad the realization doesn't make his friend's words any less shocking or painful. "What are you saying, Laurens?" he asks, because as afraid as he is of delving into the issue, the lack of any certainty about it is even more unbearable. "That it would be okay for _you_ to die?"

He's horrified at the words that come out of his own mouth, but they're nothing compared to Laurens' response. "I'm saying it wouldn't make much of a difference, is all," he says, and fucking _shrugs_. Like they're talking about what to order for dinner. Alexander has never been more mad at anyone than he is at him right now.

"Don't say that," he hisses. "Don't you fucking dare. You know it's not true."

His terrified anger must break something in Laurens, because he looks down, blinking the first rush of tears away. He looks so young all of a sudden, the mask of detachment disappearing to reveal the vulnerable, lost boy underneath.

"I don't, actually," he confesses, voice small, and Alexander feels his heart break. "Sometimes I really think it would be better for everyone. I mean, my family sure wouldn't mind."

"Fuck your family," Alexander spits. "It's like you said, remember? Lafayette and Mulligan and me, _we're_ your family now. And we sure as hell would mind if anything happened to you."

"No, Mulligan was right before – I'm not one of you. I never will be. I'm just a spoiled, bored kid playing hero with other people's lives. And look how that turned out." He's really crying now, but for some reason his voice is steady. Distant and empty, but steady. "You know Laf didn't even want to hold the protest, right? I'm the one who insisted we absolutely had to do it. I'm the reason those people are dead. I'm the same useless fuck-up I've always been, and everyone would be better off without me."

Alexander wants to argue with him, tell him he's not making any sense. If they want to blame someone for what happened at the protest, they should start with the cops at the scene, or the King's College board members that made it necessary to organize a protest in the first place, or the politicians and media that have been spreading a message of fear and resentment since the first shy attempts at reintegration. Hell, even the protesters have their share of the blame for not obeying the police order to clear the area. Not Laurens, never Laurens, who has given up everything for a cause that wasn't even his.

One look at his friend is enough to know that his insecurities run way deeper, though. It's not just about what happened today, it can't be, and even the best argumentations will go over Laurens' head right now. Alexander makes a promise to himself that he'll try and make Laurens see reason as soon as he feels better – and maybe also give Mulligan a piece of his mind for being an insensitive dick.

For now, he contents himself with crossing over from his bed to his friend's and gently coaxing him into resting his head against his chest. It seems to comfort him for a moment; then he starts sobbing into Alexander's shirt.

Alexander holds him, still shell-shocked by the suddenness of it all. Oh yes, there were some red flags, in retrospect – the fact that Laurens seems to do all he can to spend as much of his free time as possible drunk, for starters. Or his casual remarks about his own status as misfit, inadequacy or even death, depending on the situation. Maybe even his apparent aversion for healthy, committed relationships.

Still, Alexander finds it hard to really wrap his head around it. His best friend and favorite person in the world, with whom he spends most of his waking (and sleeping, actually) hours, feels so worthless that he thinks he'd be better off dead, and Alexander didn't suspect a thing. How is this even possible? Was he really so focused on his own thing that he didn't notice what was right in front of him? Or is Laurens that good at putting up a front?

Not that it matters. Alexander knows now, and he's going to fix this. He's going to make his friend feel okay again. Starting by holding him all night, if that's what he needs right now.

It's not. In fact, it's only a handful of seconds before Laurens pulls back and starts drying his tears with the shoulder of his shirt. "God, I'm sorry. I never wanted you to see... I just get into these moods, and I..." He closes his eyes, swallows back a new bout of tears. "You're probably thinking I'm pathetic – and you're totally right, by the way."

"Stop it." Alexander can't stand to hear the bitter self-hatred in his voice. "Where is this even coming from? How long have you been feeling like this?"

Laurens bites his lip, pensive. "About ten years? It's not always this bad," he amends quickly, sensing Alexander's concerned tension. "This is the worst I've felt in months. Most of the time I avoid thinking about what's wrong with me at all, and I feel okay. Like I can function, at least."

If that was supposed to reassure him, it didn't work. "That's how you're handling it? By bottling everything up?"

"Hams, I know you're trying to help here, but your judgement is the very last thing I need right now," Laurens complains, his voice starting to crack.

"Sorry sorry sorry," Alexander apologizes in a rush. "You're right, I'm an idiot. Wouldn't it be more helpful if you talked to someone, though?" he suggests, because as afraid as he is of making things worse, he can't let it go.

"You mean like a shrink?" Laurens asks, his eyes distant. "I used to, back in high school, and it did help. Up to a certain point. She got me to stop hurting myself, at least." He distractedly starts tracing patterns on his wrist with his thumb, and Alexander thinks about the implications of them both, the gesture and the statement, and feels sick. "But as for the way I feel, the only solution she could offer were meds. And my parents were against it, they were afraid they'd mess me up or turn me on to drugs, so that was the end of it."

Alexander takes his friend's hand into his – an attempt at comforting him, but also himself. If he has to watch Laurens trace the ghost of his old, self-inflicted wounds on his skin for one more second, he's going to start screaming.

Laurens looks at him with sadness in his eyes. "Have I totally freaked you out yet?"

"A little," Alexander admits. "But only because I'm worried about you. I don't think you're pathetic or worthless or whatever crap the voice inside your head is telling you, alright?"

"Give it time," Laurens counters, uncooperative. 

Alexander takes a deep breath, reminds himself that his friend isn't arguing with him just to spite him, he's only speaking like that because he's in a lot of pain. Still, it doesn't mean Alexander has to agree with him. "I don't need to. I know you, and I like you, a lot, and nothing's going to change that."

"You don't know me," Laurens scoffs. "We met like, a month ago. You don't know shit about me."

"I know enough," Alexander insists, trying to ignore how much Laurens' words and mocking tone sting.

"Really?" Laurens asks, a challenge in his eyes. "What are you, three years older than me? Okay, so you were already in college when I was a high school senior. Which means that while you were staying up all night to study, powered only by caffeine and determination, trying to finish your studies in half the regular time 'cause otherwise your scholarship would expire and you'd have to spend the rest of your life in misery – while you had all that to worry about, I was sitting in my cozy little room feeling sorry for myself and throwing tantrums and slitting my own wrists for no reason at all, except maybe the fact that I was so privileged and bored that I had to make up my own problems because I didn't have any real ones. How does that make you feel?"

"How do you think?" Alexander asks, tired. "It makes me feel like shit, okay? I can't even begin to imagine what you went through."

"That's not the point I was trying to make," Laurens protests, sounding almost disappointed. "You're not supposed to feel sorry for me."

"Well, tough, because I do," Alexander counters. "I care about you, of course I can't stand to see you suffer like this. Or did you really think I'd resent you just because... what, you made mistakes as a teen? Because you allegedly had it easier?"

" _Allegedly_?" Laurens looks at him like he's crazy.

Fine, that might have been a bit of an exaggeration. Still, Alexander refuses to back down. "You heard me. Believe me, I'm not saying I didn't have my fair share of shit to get through, not at all, but at least I could always count on myself. Having your own mind turn against you, that sounds just as terrifying as poverty and hurricanes."

"Okay, now you're making shit up just to make me feel better," Laurens decides.

Alexander is starting to have enough of his stubbornness. "I'm not," he rebuts. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that you matter to me?"

"Because... because it just doesn't make any sense," Laurens confesses. "I don't deserve a second of your time. I'm useless and fucked up and it probably took you so long to figure it out because you see me as some part of the Laf and Mulligan deal and _they're_ awesome, but now that you know just how messed up I am you have no reason to stick around, except maybe that you feel sorry for me and you don't want to have me on your conscience if I ever..."

"Stop it, shut up, I don't want to hear it," Alexander finally manages to cut him off. "Jesus. How do you even... I love you, alright, you asshole? Get it into that stubborn head of yours. You're the best person I've ever had the privilege to call my friend, and you'll always be, I don't care I've only known you for a little over a month. 'cause let's be honest, it didn't even take that long for you to win me over completely – all you needed was a couple of days. What you gonna do about it, huh?"

Laurens blinks, momentarily stunned by the flood of words. Then: "Are you really challenging me to fight you over the fact that you don't hate me?"

"I might have gotten a little carried away," Alexander concedes, because put it like that it does sound kinda ridiculous. It only supports his argument, though. "See, nobody's perfect. Not even me."

Laurens laughs – a quick, nervous little thing, but it's something. "I never believed that for a second."

"You know, I might be offended if we hadn't just established that you're the worst possible judge of character," Alexander shoots back.

His alarm goes off then, sparing Laurens from having to come up with a response. He bends over to turn it off before Alexander can, and groans when he sees what time it was set on. "Seriously? Who wakes up at 5:30 on a Sunday?"

"I wanted to get some work done," Alexander explains, defensive. "But I guess that's not happening now. Wanna go get some breakfast?"

Laurens looks at him like he's trying to decide whether he's messing with him. "Are you serious?"

"Why not?" Alexander shrugs. "It's the city that never sleeps, I'm sure we can find a place to eat."

"You don't even _need_ to eat," Laurens reminds him unnecessarily, raising an eyebrow.

Alexander rolls his eyes. "Okay, a place where you can eat and I can watch you eat, then."

"I thought we were too broke for that?"

"Speak for yourself. I'm cashing my first paycheck next week," Alexander announces, and he doesn't even care how sad it is that he's so excited about it. "I'm going to have more money than I know what to do with, and it's probably better if I invest it in taking you out than in fancy clothes." He jumps off the bed and gives Laurens his most brilliant smile. "Well, what do you say?"

Laurens thinks about it. "I'm up for it, but I can't help feeling like it's your way to take care of me after I went all emo on you. And as much as I appreciate it, it isn't really helping me feel better about myself."

"Then don't think of it like that," Alexander suggests. "Think that we've both had a hard day and a shitty night, and we deserve something nice after all this talk about guilt and self-hatred. And I can't think of anything nicer than walking the streets of Brooklyn at dawn with my best friend."

"Fine," Laurens caves. "But you're not paying for my breakfast."

"We'll see about that," Alexander accepts the challenge.

They're out a few minutes later, and the brisk air of the late January morning seems to instantly make Laurens feel better. He brushes his fingers against Alexander's for a second, tells him, "Thanks for putting up with me."

"My pleasure," Alexander replies. Then he realizes how that might have sounded, and his face scrunches up. "Well, not really. What I mean is... Feel free to talk to me about anything, alright? I don't care how unpleasant or dumb you think it is. I'm here for you, whatever you need."

Something unreadable passes over Laurens' eyes. He gives a single nod. "I'll try," he promises, and it doesn't mean much, it's far from being a guarantee that he'll let Alexander in and they'll deal with all this shit together, but after seeing the hopeless self-loathing in his friend's eyes tonight, after hearing his voice crack with desperation, Alexander can content himself with even the smallest sign of recovery.

"Great," he says, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Besides, it's only fair after I woke you up and whined about _my_ problems for half an hour earlier."

Laurens smiles a bittersweet smile. "Yeah. Guess we're both a little fucked up."

"Oh, definitely," Alexander agrees. "But that's okay."

"I know," Laurens says, and sighs. "Just, please smack me whenever I forget."

Alexander laughs, the tension of the last hours finally starting to leave his body. "Will do," he promises, and they set to look for a place that by some miracle is already open at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.

That was the plan, at least. It goes to the wind the second they turn the corner and see the state of the Archive.

"Oh shit," Laurens breathes out, horrified. "What the hell happened here?"

The front window of the club has been shattered from the inside, and there's shards of glass all over the sidewalk below it. The door was forced open and, together with what parts of the window are still more or less intact, it's been scribbled all over with graffiti – of what nature, Alexander can guess even before he gets close enough to take a look. He clenches his jaw and feels his anger mount. When will these self-entitled pulsist vandals realize they're not allowed to mess with Angelica?

A police car is parked in front of the building, and Alexander has to tell himself that it's a good thing, they're here to help this time. He still tries to keep as far from the vehicle as he can.

Laurens doesn't seem to share his reservations. "Come on, let's go take a look inside," he urges, and before Alexander can object to the plan he's already sliding past the open door.

Alexander shakes his head and follows.

"Sorry guys, place's not opened for shop," a cop tells them the second they step inside. She tries to usher them out, her tone stern. "I'm afraid you're going to have to come back some other time."

"No, wait, they're friends," Angelica's voice rises to defend them, and Alexander sees her, hair in disarray and dark circles under her eyes. She was talking to a second officer next to the bar, probably giving him her statement or something, but as soon as she sees the two of them she ditches the guy to come meet them at the door.

Alexander hugs her. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He feels her relax in his embrace for a moment. Then she pulls back. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was home when it happened – these two officers here noticed all the ruckus and gave me a call." She's shaking a little, and at first Alexander thinks she's in shock. Then she looks up with defiance, and he realizes she isn't scared at all. She's pissed off. "They didn't steal anything, of course. Just wanted to send a message."

Alexander takes a step back, finally taking in the state of the place. If he thought things looked bad from the outside, it was just because he had yet to see what those jackasses did inside. In addition to writing more offensive slurs (the huge " _This bar supports necrophilia_ " spray-painted over the bar is impossible to ignore), they seem to have decided it would be a good idea to break everything they could get their hands on – glasses, liquor bottles that now lie in fragments in a pool of their own spilled content, even a couple of stools. This wasn't just a couple of unruly kids having fun at the expense of the Man, it's retaliation for a perceived crime. It's an act of war.

"Just wait 'til I find the assholes that did it," Laurens is saying, fuming. "They're going to regret even thinking of doing this to you. I'mma show them, I'm..."

"What you're going to do is stay put and let us handle the case," the cop who tried to get them to leave before shuts him up. "The last thing we need is people like you trying to take justice into your own hands." She's replying to Laurens, but she looks to Alexander as she does. Of course. The zombie is the most likely to stir up trouble.

Her partner walks to Angelica, tells her: "I think we've got everything we need for now. Give us a call if you remember anything else, though."

Angelica nods. "I will. Thank you, officers."

They respond politely and leave – not without one last suspicious look at Laurens and Alexander. Almost as if to say, _no wonder you're having trouble if this is the kind of company you keep_.

Alexander rolls his eyes at them and then turns to Angelica. "Okay, so... What's the plan? First we get everything back in order here, and then we go after the cowards who did this? It might be a little tricky to find them, but I think we can narrow it down to..."

Angelica shakes her head, cuts him off: "You heard the police. We're supposed to stay put and let them handle it."

"You're kidding, right?" Laurens blurts out, appalled. "You know they're not going to do shit about it. The epic fight against petty vandalism isn't exactly a priority to them."

Alexander isn't sure this kind of destruction qualifies as _petty_ , but Laurens does have a point. He can't imagine NYPD losing their sleep over catching what they probably think is nothing more than a bunch of underage punks who need to find a healthier hobby.

Angelica isn't of the same opinion, though. "Oh, it is if the victim of said vandalism belongs to the right family. And... I do." She sounds almost uncomfortable saying it. Which makes sense, considering the kind of people she seems to prefer hanging out with. No need to rub in the faces of the most neglected, discriminated against parts of society that most of their problems would be easily solved if their family was as rich and powerful as Angelica's daddy. Still, it's not like it's her fault, and she usually makes people forget about her status within three seconds of meeting her.

"That's right. I always forget you're practically royalty, what with your wildness and lack of manners."

Alexander didn't mean it as an insult, not at all, but if her reaction is any indication that's exactly how Angelica decided to interpret his words. "Excuse me?!" she asks, fixing her scariest incensed stare on him.

"And by that he means that you're so fierce and down-to-earth," Laurens comes to his rescue.

Alexander points at his roommate, rushing to grab the lifeline he was just thrown. "Yes, exactly! That's exactly what I meant."

Angelica shakes her head, not buying it. "It's not even 6 am and already I've been kicked out of bed after like, three hours of sleep, my bar got wrecked, and my friends are being total jackasses for no reason. I have a feeling me and today are not going to get along."

"Well, the obvious solution is to have your jackass friends make amends by cleaning up this mess while you get some well-deserved rest in the back," Alexander suggests. Then he remembers the reason he left home so early in the first place, and turns to Laurens: "Is it alright if we take a raincheck on breakfast?"

Laurens looks at him like he's crazy for even asking. "What do you think? Priorities, man."

"Wait, you guys had plans?" Angelica asks, mortified. "Oh, of course you did, it's not like you were up so early just for funsies. You go ahead then, I don't want you to give up your... secret breakfast date or whatever because of me. I can take care of this myself, really."

"Don't be ridiculous, we don't mind at all," Alexander reassures her.

"Yeah, you're family," Laurens agrees. "Speaking of which, think I'll text Laf and Mulls, tell them to drag their lazy asses down here and lend a hand as soon as they're awake."

"Good plan," Alexander approves, at the same time as Angelica protests: "Guys, really, you don't have to..." She sees the identical, unmovable resolution in their eyes, and finally gives up. "Oh, fine. Thank you. I'll go get brooms and some plastic bags."

Alexander gives her a victorious smirk. "That's the spirit." He waits for Angelica to disappear behind the door to the cellar before approaching Laurens, murmuring to him: "Hey, I'm sorry about the change of plan."

"Don't be," Laurens says, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. "Angelica is my friend too. Besides, cleaning is my number 2 go-to therapeutic activity. My sister used to joke that I should feel down more often, because every time I did I offered to clean her room for her."

He smiles fondly at the memory, and Alexander feels like it's a piece of information worth investigating. "You have a sister?"

Laurens nods. "And a brother." He must read something in Alexander's expression, then, because he asks: "What?"

"Nothing, it's just..." He bites his lip, unsure of whether it's a good idea to voice his feelings, but he's never been good at hiding them anyway. "I guess I'm realizing more and more than I don't know you as well as I thought," he admits.

"Told ya," Laurens gloats, and the tone is mostly facetious, but there's a hint of worry in it too.

"I want to, though," Alexander promises him, and maybe he says it a little too quickly, but he's desperate for Laurens to understand that this doesn't change any of what he said before. "You're still my best friend, and I want to learn everything there is to know about you."

Laurens huffs in amusement. "Careful what you wish for," he advises, but for once he doesn't sound like he's disparaging himself, only like he's poking fun at Alexander for his eagerness.

Alexander doesn't mind one bit.


	13. In which Alexander cashes his first paycheck

1,196. It's officially Alexander's new favorite number.

He can't help staring at the ATM screen with a self-satified little smirk. For the first time in... he doesn't even know, way too long anyway, his savings are not a negative digit, and it feels pretty incredible. Does that make him a mindless cog in the cold-hearted capitalist machine? Possibly. But it also means that he can finally stop depending on the kindness of others, start repaying them for it, and most of all stop worrying about even the tiniest expense. He's out in the real world and he's making a life for himself there, and he refuses to feel anything but proud of himself for it.

What he didn't expect was for his friends to share his enthusiasm. He finds them all at the Archive, and while the fact isn't unusual in itself even on a Thursday evening, the way they welcome him leaves no doubt as to what the occasion for celebrating is.

"High baller alert!" Laurens hollers, raising his glass in the direction of the door Alexander just came in through.

Lafayette playfully elbows him in the side. " _Zut_ , he's going to hear you and you'll scare him off!"

"You think he's lost?" Mulligan asks. "What business could he have in a seedy place like this?"

"Maybe he's one of those bored rich kids who get a kick out of mixing up with the common folk from time to time," Angelica suggests, which is kind of ironic considering her background and life choices.

"Guys, guys, if we play our cards right, this is the time we finally get ourselves a sugar daddy."

"And then it's out of the gutter and straight to the good life!"

"Oh my god he's coming over."

"Be cool, everyone."

"You done?" Alexander asks, taking a seat at the bar with the best poker-face he can pull off at the moment. Which unfortunately isn't that great.

Lafayette brings a hand to his chest in a wounded gesture. "Well forgive us for being happy that one of us is finally moving above the poverty threshold."

Alexander thinks about pointing out that he's far from being the wealthiest in their group, especially since he's the only one without a family to support him. Then again, Lafayette has a shitload of siblings, the subject of Mulligan's family is taboo, and he's still not sure how much money Laurens' parents are handing him after their fallout but he doubts it's enough to cover for more than his tuition at King's College. So yeah, maybe Alexander is doing a little better than the rest of them these days.

Better not to touch on that particular subject, then. The last thing he wants is to ruin everyone's good mood with unpleasant family talk. "How do you even know I cashed my paycheck today?" he asks instead, coy.

"It's because we know you better than we know ourselves at this point," Lafayette reveals matter-of-factly.

"Also you haven't been shutting up about it all week, so there's that," Laurens chimes in.

"That is so not true," Alexander protests. "I can't have mentioned it more than once or twice."

"Yeah, per hour," Laurens counters, smug.

Angelica decides to intervene before they spend the entire night engaged in a petty fight between actual 6-year-olds. "So do you already have some investment planned?" she changes the subject. "Anything you always wanted to buy and can finally afford now?"

"You know, I think the apartment could really use a new couch," Mulligan mentions casually.

"And I'm pretty sure we could find a way to fit a small TV and a Wii in our room," Laurens adds.

Alexander grins at their pathetic attempts without even dignifying them with an actual reply. "Not really. Oh, but I'm definitely going to buy some new clothes, because if one more random stranger stops me in the street to ask me if I'm Team Pita or Team Twister I'm going to have a breakdown."

Laurens rolls his eyes. "For the last time, it's _Gale_ , not Twister, and you can go around with no shirt at all next time for all I care."

"Like you wouldn't enjoy that," Alexander quips, giving his friend the suggestive look that never fails to make him blush.

"Are you saying you got Hams in a Hunger Games tee?" Lafayette interjects, sounding annoyingly amused by the fact. "When was I when this was happening?"

Alexander shrugs. "Probably somewhere safe from weirdos obsessed with kids killing each other for sports."

"Probably doing something more rewarding than saving your ungrateful roommate from a crisis and getting mocked for it," Laurens counters.

"I did not mock you, I just found it concerning that a 24-year-old med student doesn't have a single normal shirt in his wardrobe. Still do, by the way."

"Thanks for your input, Grandpa."

Angelica leans forward, an evil little smirk on her lips. "Well, what is it, then – Team Peeta or Team Gale?"

Alexander groans and buries his head in his hands. "Why do you hate me?"

She cackles, proud to have elicited such a defeated reaction from him. Alexander has the worst taste in friends. "Don't worry, spoilsport, I was asking Laurens."

He takes his time to think about it – as if they were discussing something of actual importance. "Well, of course the series is about so much more than the love triangle and reducing it to that is insulting to the writer, the entire fandom and every female-driven work of art," he finally declares. "That being said, though... If by _Team_ you mean _Who should Katniss end up with_ , the answer is obviously Peeta. Mostly because that way I don't have to feel like a homewrecker when I seduce Gale and we run off to change the world together."

"Sound choice," Angelica approves, nodding, and laughs.

Luckily, Alexander is not the only adult in the group. "You know, I was about to unjustly accuse Hams of being lame just for spending his first money on friggin' clothes," Mulligan confesses, "so thank you for reminding me what lame really looks like."

Laurens flips him off.

It's Alexander's turn to laugh. "Thanks, I guess. I'm not going to spend my first money on clothes, anyway," he sets the record straight. "The very first goes in offering you guys the next round – you too, Angelica."

"Now that's a great idea," Laurens approves, immediately echoed by the others. Alexander looks at him with worry and wants to tell him to pace himself, stop drinking so much just so that he can stop feeling whatever the hell he's feeling that puts all those scary self-destructive thoughts into his head, but he doubts outing his friend's depression like this is going to do him any good. Assuming the others don't already know.

So he resolves to kick back and let Laurens have his fun. It's not like he ever put himself in serious danger, after all. And Alexander promised him things wouldn't be different between them, he owes him the effort to act normal.

He just wishes it were easier.

"You still with us?" Angelica asks, jolting him back to reality.

"Yeah," Alexander replies distractedly, forcing himself to look away from Laurens and focus instead on the glass Angelica has just set in front of him. "Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking..." He bites his lip, says the second thing that comes to his mind: "I also want to use the money to pay back some debts. And on that note..." He turns to his roommates. "You pay 200$ each for rent, right?"

"That's right," Lafayette confirms. Then he rushes to add: "You don't have to chip in, though – you know your quota has already been paid for the whole year."

"Yeah, by Gal. Who didn't even know me, and wasn't probably planning on biting the dust right after he spent all that money on rent."

"Definitely. It's not like it was your fault, though. And you said it yourself, he's dead, so there's no way for you to pay him back even if you wanted to."

"I do want to," Alexander clarifies. Just because he can appreciate being lent a hand in the moment of need it doesn't mean he's fine with taking advantage of others. All the more so when they're dead and didn't really make a conscious choice to help him anyway. Fortunately, he already has a plan. "And I know I can't do that directly, but I was thinking... You said he was into church and stuff, right? Do you happen to know what church he went to?"

"Wait. You want to give your hard-earned money to the fucking _Church_?" Laurens puts two and two together. He seems positively appalled at the prospect. "Why don't you give some to the Klan since you're at it? Or, I don't know, the ULA?"

Alexander won't have any of his militant atheist crap. "Don't be a dick, Laurens. Not every religious group is bigoted and evil, you know."

"You're right, it's only like 99.9% of them. How unfair of me to make such blind generalizations," Laurens spits back.

This might very well turn into a fight, which is ridiculous because Alexander isn't even religious. His mom was, though, and so were her friends, the ones who agreed to take care of him and saved him from a life of misery and no prospects back in his hometown. And yeah, maybe they were naive or simple-minded, but they were most definitely not hateful. Laurens has no right to label them as such, just as Alexander has no right to say all living want to oppress him. Whatever crap his own church put him through shouldn't be used to demonize perfectly innocent people, and it's disheartening to see someone as brilliant and open-minded as Laurens not get it.

For better or worse, they never get to have that argument, because Angelica interrupts them before they can really get into it. "Wasn't there a charity Gal did volunteer work at?" she wonders, looking at Lafayette for confirmation.

He nods. " _Oui, c'est vrai_. He was there quite a lot."

"Every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon," Laurens supplies. "I remember because I was always sure I'd have the room to myself on those days," he adds with a conspiratorial air about him.

"So you could sin without having to face his judgmental stare?" Mulligan jokes.

Or maybe not. "Pretty much," Laurens confirms, and half-smiles. "God, I can't believe I miss that stuck-up jerk."

"Wait, he gave you a hard time about being gay?" Alexander asks, starting to reconsider his willingness to pay back the guy. Then again he doesn't know what would be worse, giving his money to someone who bullied his best friend because of his sexual preferences or knowing that he'll be indebted for life to such a character.

The dilemma is solved when Laurens shakes his head. "Nah, it was premarital sex in general that made him uncomfortable. Actually, he was a little more lenient with me because apparently Jesus didn't say shit about the gays, so he didn't know what God's plan for me was supposed to be. Get married still or get burned at the stake? Abstain and repent or do whatever the hell I liked?" He thinks of something else then, and smiles to himself. "Then he found out I'd played all the Monkey Island games, and decided I was cool either way."

"Wish I could have won him over with geeky crap," Mulligan sighs. "Were you there when he accused me of leading good God-fearing girls astray?"

"Well, to his credit, nobody told you to go and seduce half his church group," Lafayette points out.

"It was only two girls!" Mulligan protests. "And not even at the same time."

"Wow, okay, you're definitely going straight to heaven then."

"So he was cool, yeah?" Alexander presses on. "Gal?"

"Of course!" Lafayette exclaims, at the same time as Laurens nods, "Totally," and Mulligan pretends to think about it: "Ehh... He was alright, I guess."

Laf elbows him in the side, a big grin on his face. "Jackass."

Alexander nods once, reassured. He trusts his friends' judgement – if they say Gal was one of the good guys, he doesn't need any further proof.

"So what did you say the charity's name was?" he inquires.

The others exchange embarrassed glances, stomped. Then they all turn to Angelica in sync, looking at her expectantly.

She shakes her head, a frown on her pretty face. "How am I supposed to know? He was _your_ roommate!"

"But you are the one with the awesome memory for pointless details about people's lives," Lafayette counters, batting his lashes at her in a silent, _Pretty please_.

Angelica sighs before biting her lip, pensive. "Spring something?" she suggests in the end.

"Yes! Spring of Light!" Alexander jumps up. His excitement is somewhat dampened when everyone just stares at him with a puzzled look. "I saw some handbills in your cabinet," he supplies, nodding in Laurens' direction.

"Right. I still have to get around to deciding what to do with Gal's old stuff."

Well, that explains why the cabinet was such a mess – and most of the weird crap Alexander found inside. "Can I suggest getting rid of the creepy voodoo doll?"

"What creepy..." Laurens starts asking. "Oh, no, I know which one you mean. I think his niece made it or something. I don't know, he hadn't been in contact with his family in a while when we met him," he reveals, as if that were enough explain it off.

It isn't. "Well, his niece is definitely into some weird cult," Alexander states with detached conviction.

"She's like, 6," Laurens tries to argue.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything."

And there it is, that fond little smile that somehow still manages to light up Laurens' whole face. "You're an idiot," he says, shaking his head without diverting his eyes from Alexander's.

Alexander smiles back at him, holding his stare, and they must look pretty gay – which, granted, they are. Not for each other, though, at least not when they're still mostly sober and have had more than a pitiful couple hours of sleep. They're both too smart to get themselves into that kind of mess.

Still, Mulligan doesn't seem to appreciate their totally platonic gazing into each other's eyes. "Okay, that's it. We're switching seats, Laurens," he decides.

The intimation is enough to make Laurens finally look away from Alexander and turn to Mulligan, a perplexed frown crinkling his forehead. "What? Why?"

"You know why. You're totally killing Hammie's mojo," Mulligan tells him.

Which, what the fuck. It's not even the accusation that bothers Alexander, because it was mostly directed at Laurens and as much as they'd both like to deny it, there is some truth to it. What Alexander finds completely unacceptable is the fact that Mulligan is making it his problem.

" _Excuse me_?" he asks, ready to jump into battle.

"That's bullshit," Laurens claims a little too loud. "I'd never do such a thing."

"Actually, you do," Lafayette rebuts his protestations. "All the time."

"Yeah. I can't even keep track of how many conversations I've overheard about how dreamy our Alexander is and what a shame it is that he's already taken," Angelica steps in.

Wait. That's actually interesting information. "Seriously? And you didn't tell me?" Alexander grumbles.

Angelica shrugs. "I didn't know you were looking for action," she says neutrally.

"Of course he is, he's a single man in possession of a good fortune and hasn't had sex in so long that he's probably forgotten how it works by now," Mulligan jokes.

"That's not..." _True_ , he wants to say, but the most debatable part of the statement is the one concerning the sum of Alexander's fortune so he amends at the last second: "... any of your business."

"Of course it is, I'm your friend. And I have the pleasure to announce you that the best wingman _ever_ is on your side tonight," Mulligan says, downing the last of his beer and pointing to Alexander with both hands. "You're getting laid, even if I have to sleep with you myself to make it happen."

"Wait, that's not fair, you promised you'd turn to me if you ever started feeling curious!" Lafayette whines. " _Va-t'en au diable_ , Alexander, you and your magnetic charm."

Alexander laughs, and he can't help feeling grateful once again for stumbling upon these crazy people. He knows that behind all the machismo act, Mulligan just wants him to have the best time tonight – that there is no malice in his teasing, only his desire to help Alexander unwind and have fun. It's sweet, almost.

"Don't worry, no chance in hell that's happening," Laurens interjects. "I mean, have you looked at him? Our Hams doesn't need no pity lay. All you gotta do is walk up to someone, give them a good old-fashioned _how you doin'_ , and they'll be falling at your feet."

"Preach it, man." Alexander points at him, feeling smug and a little lightheaded. He was already walking on air before, but he'd be lying if he said his friends' compliments aren't boosting up his good mood.

"Oh, and if that doesn't work, you can always play the foreigner card," Laurens suggests.

Alexander frowns. "I was born here, you know," he feels compelled to remind him.

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter. You're Latino and you speak perfect Spanish, you can totally play the hot mysterious stranger in this crowd. I should know."

"It's true," Lafayette confirms. "Foreign languages are sexy, it's a universal truth. Especially if the people you're trying to seduce don't know the first thing about them. We even had a bet going on about it a while ago."

"What kind of bet?" Alexander inquires, curious in spite of himself.

"I'd say it was more of a game between Laf and me," Laurens tells him. "We told people random shit in Spanish and French and see if they fell for it. But it really did work. You have no idea how turned on guys get when you get all flirty and tell them, _Voy a pintar tu peligro de rojo_ ," he reveals, and he sounds strangely serious about it.

Alexander is a little more skeptical. "That doesn't even make any sense."

"It's not about what the words mean, it's about how they sound." Laurens turns to Lafayette, a private smile on his lips. "What's that thing you said to that one girl that I was still laughing about two weeks later?"

"Oh. _Laissez-moi rire de ton chapeau pointu_ ," he whispers seductively.

"That's right! Isn't that super-hot? _Chapeau pointu_ ," Laurens repeats, exaggerating the movement of his lips. It is a little distracting, Alexander will give them that. "That's genius."

"Thank you," Lafayette laughs. "I was also a fan of the eggplant one. How did it go again?"

"Hell if I remember. I think it was something along the lines of... _Quieres mirar a la berenjena conmigo_?"

"That's the one!"

Mulligan, predictably, is less than impressed. "Man, sex between you guys must have been so fuckin' weird," he comments. "Don't listen do them, Hammie. You're gonna be on fire tonight, and I'mma lend you a hand."

Enticing as it sounds, Alexander has totally different plans for tonight. "I don't know, Mulls. I appreciate the help, but I'm not really feeling it."

"No no no no, don't go giving me that," Mulligan shuts him down. "You haven't 'been feeling it' since Angelica broke your heart or whatever." He mimics Alexander's words in a mocking tone, and if he were anyone else he'd already have been socked on the nose. Alexander knows this is his friend's version of tough love, though, so he takes a deep breath and lets him finish. "Now, I get it, you guys almost kissed once so you had so much history, you needed time to get over her and all, but it's been a month. Time to get back in the game."

Alexander hazards a glance in Angelica's direction and finds her fetching two cold beers from the refrigerator behind the counter, seemingly unaware of the turn the conversation has taken. That's probably for the best.

"It's not that," he says, looking away.

Mulligan won't let it go. "Oh yeah? What is it, then?"

"It's..." Alexander starts. "Well, what's the point? I can't even feel pleasure anymore, what reason do I have to hook up with random people?" he asks, and he doesn't expect Mulligan to have an answer for him but he can't help hoping he does, because things have been pretty frustrating on the dating front since his death.

He didn't expect Mulligan to laugh in his face either, but that's exactly what he does. "That's what's been holding you back? Man oh man." He shakes his head, like Alexander is the funniest thing he's seen in a while. "I got you covered, dude. I don't go around saying I'm the best wingman ever for nothing, you know."

Before Alexander can ask him to elaborate, Mulligan hollers at Angelica: "Yo, barkeep, did you get that special shipment I ordered?"

Instead of replying, Angelica throws a look around the place, assessing the situation. She must decide it's all clear, because she doesn't even worry about lowering her voice as she answers: "If you're talking about the sheep brains, I did." Quite a few patrons start murmuring with interest at the word. "I thought we agreed on bringing them out _after_ midnight, though?"

"Yes, but think about it," Lafayette interjects, "if we eat them now, we're going to have more time to get over the buzz before we try to head home and cause horrible horrible accidents."

"So it's horny zombies in here or roaming the city," she sighs. "Why did I ever agree to this?"

"Because we helped you get this place back on its feet last week. And because you love us," he reminds her with a brilliant smile.

"For now," she threatens, but she's smiling too and it's only a handful of seconds before she caves and disappears in the back.

Mulligan claps his hands together excitedly. "Guys, it's so on. Hope you're ready for the _best fucking night_ of your miserable lives!"

He raises his empty beer in a toast, immediately followed by Laf and Laurens and even a few random people who spontaneously decided to join their group at the mention of brains.

As much as Alexander hates to be that guy, he can't help dissociating himself from their enthusiasm. "Yeah, sorry, I don't think it's a good idea."

Mulligan looks at him like Alexander just murdered his wife and kids and favorite puppy in front of his eyes, but it's Laurens who blurts out: "You're kidding, right?"

"I have to work tomorrow," Alexander offers.

Predictably, he's met with a lot of booing and groaning. "That's a dumb excuse and you know it," Mulligan tells him.

"It's not," Alexander protests. He promised himself he wasn't going to act like a wasted frat boy once he started his job and he's done a pretty good job at it up to this point, never having more than a few beers during the week and forcing himself to always turn in before midnight except on Saturdays. His friends have been assholes about it pretty much constantly, but that's kind of a good thing – it means he knows how to handle them by now. "I'm not getting fired the day after I cash my first paycheck."

Lafayette answers his concern with a dismissive gesture. "You're not getting fired, period, _mon cher_. You know Washington loves you."

"And you always complain about the job being boring anyway," Laurens reminds him.

Alexander raises a skeptical eyebrow. "That doesn't mean I get to show up to work hangover," he points out.

"Dude, I know," Mulligan says, and for once there isn't any trace of condescension or exasperation in his voice. Maybe just a hint of smugness. "But I'm an expert in the fine science of brain-ingesting. You're gonna eat just enough to feel amazing for a couple hours, head straight to bed like the good boy you are, and wake up all sharp and ready to go tomorrow."

Alexander hesitates. Damn, this is the night he caves. "Can you guarantee that?" he asks, even though he knows by now he's only postponing his inevitable downfall.

"Of course!" Mulligan promises in a rush. Then, since Alexander still looks uncertain: "Okay, you know what? If you haven't slept it off completely by tomorrow morning, you're moving to the big room."

"What?" Lafayette asks, obviously taken aback by the unexpected proposal.

Alexander knows how he feels. "For real?"

"Pinky swear," Mulligan jokes, but Alexander knows him well enough by now to know he's totally serious about the offer. Which means he's really, 100% sure of what he's doing with the brains – Alexander knows he'd sooner find another apartment than move to Laurens' little den of geekiness and OCD, where the sun wakes you up at dawn because the blinders don't work properly and if you open the windows after 10 AM everything ends up smelling of curry thanks to the Indian restaurant across the street. For Alexander, that's home; for Mulligan, it's hell.

"We have a deal, then," Alexander accepts.

Mulligan gives him a self-satisfied beam, but otherwise manages not to be totally obnoxious about his victory. "That's more like it!" he simply exclaims. "Now, can we stop acting like little bitches and get this party started?!"

 

Cami is 23, has a fiery mass of red-dyed hair and is a sometime waitress, sometime Broadway actress, depending on her luck. She heard of the Archive because she's a friend of Eliza's, but Alexander never finds out how they know each other because the second he asks the question, that's when the brains really start to kick in and he can't focus on a single word she's saying anymore.

The sensations hit him all at once, as strong and overwhelming as the tide that swept him in what seems like a lifetime ago. The cold glass of the beer bottle he's holding in his hand. The smooth surface of the bar counter he's leaning against. The electricity of Cami's leg brushing against his as she swings it back and forth. Even the colors are brighter, the sounds more intense.

He fixates on Cami's bright red hair, the way her curls jump up and down when she's talking excitedly about god knows what, how she coyly twirls it around her finger. Alexander wonders if it's as soft as it looks.

He doesn't even realize he tried to check for himself until she jerks back, weirded out and more than a little annoyed. That's the problem with hitting on the living – they just can't relate. There's no way Cami can understand what it's like to feel again, so strongly and suddenly, how positively ecstatic Alexander is right now and how little he cares about such boring things as personal boundaries as a result.

One of the many upsides of riding so high is that not even Cami leaving can come any close to bringing him down. So he messed it up with one girl. There's plenty other interesting options around.

Starting with – okay, to be honest Alexander is so drunk with happiness and sensations and probably actual alcohol as well by the time he meets the next guy that he doesn't catch his name, nor could he recall whether it was Mulligan who introduced the two of them. He kinda hopes it was, he knows his friend is cool with all of his roommates being queer (well, most of the time at least) but for him to play matchmaker between Alexander and some dude, that's a whole other story. If this turns out to be his doing, Alexander will have to admit that he is a pretty awesome wingman.

Either way, the best thing about the unnamed guy is that he's as wasted on brains as Alexander, so he doesn't require a long courting process before he's letting Alexander push his tongue into his mouth. And _god_ , yes, that's it, that's how it's supposed to feel – wet and messy and thrilling and _amazing_. The tiny part of Alexander's mind that isn't completely absorbed by the other guy kicks him a little for not coming up with the idea of using brains himself, and earlier. Way earlier.

They only get to make out for a few minutes before the crowd pulls them apart, and they're both too out of it to go looking for each other after that. Good thing too, because if they had, Alexander never would have met Sam.

She reminds him a little of Angelica, with her dark skin and spirited bright eyes, but whereas Angelica is tall and a little bony, she's smaller and chubby. They most definitely share the same energy, though – Alexander first notices Sam as she's killing it on the dance floor and he can't take his eyes off her, captivated by her leaps and twirls and sultry poses.

Mulligan, bless his heart, gets them talking, and Alexander is still hyper-aware of everything going on around him but it's been long enough that he doesn't let it distract him from the main objective.

"So what do you do?" he asks her as they sit down on the floor next to the bathroom door. Not ideal, but it's not like they have much of a choice – all the seats are taken. Word must have gotten out that Angelica is having a little impromptu rave for the undead.

Sam giggles.

"What?"

"You said it weird. _Whaddyoudoo_ ," she says, and laughs again. Alexander would give her a good old-fashioned punch in the shoulder if she wasn't so damn cute.

He isn't going to let it go either, though. "I did not," he protests. "I'll have you know, my speech is absolutely flawless even when I'm hammered."

"If you say so," she replies condescendingly. "I'm a hairdresser, anyway. Have my own salon and all."

"Really?"

"Yep. Between Spring and Mulberry Street. Samanta's, without an H," she tells him. She takes a strand of his hair between her fingers then, says with forced casualness: "You should come visit me sometime."

Alexander gives her a complicit smirk. "Yeah, maybe I will."

"Good," she approves, and shifts to a kneeling position so that she can slide a little closer to him. "You know why I'm not asking what _you_ do? It's 'cause I already know."

"Oh yeah?" Alexander asks, secretly pleased. If she knows, she must have asked around, and if she has asked it means she's really interested. Not that Alexander had any doubts about that, what with her coquettish act and the way she's leaning against him right now, her big round breasts mere inches from his nose, but it's good to know the spark between the two of them isn't just about the brain high they're both still riding. "What is it, then?"

"Me," Sam replies with a sparkle in her eyes. She moves again, straddles him as she elaborates, a mischievous grin curling her pretty mouth: "You're doing me."

Alexander blinks in surprise and she giggles again, plants a kiss on his nose before standing up, her hand clenched around Alexander's, and dragging him to the ladies' room. Even though he most definitely doesn't need her to drag him anywhere.

There's no one else in the restroom – or if there is, Alexander is too caught up in Sam to notice. She starts kissing him the second they step inside, and she has to crane up her neck to do so, which almost never happens. It makes Alexander feel tall, and it's pretty damn awesome. And her mouth is warm and her lipstick tastes like cherry and there's so much to feel that he might very well explode.

He lets Sam guide him to the sink, leans against it as her hands roam his body, her mouth never leaving his for more than a couple of seconds at a time. Then he decides it's time to take some initiative himself and grabs her ass, lifts her up so that she can wrap her legs around his waist. A gasp of surprised pleasure escapes her lips, and Alexander's mouth is curved into a smug little smile as he goes back to kissing her.

He's just got his hands on the clasp of her bra when he hears a noise that sounds horribly like a door swinging open, and the even more horrible sound of a familiar voice. "Hams, are you... Oh shit. Shit, I'm so sorry."

Laurens. What the fuck is Laurens doing in a women's restroom?

Actually, Alexander doesn't really care, he just wants him to go away stat. "What?" he asks brusquely, looking up from behind Sam's shoulder.

"Look, I'm really really sorry to... interrupt," he says, making a vague gesture in the direction of Sam, who climbed down from Alexander's lap and is now trying to compose herself next to him. She looks way too much like she's ready to bounce, and if she does, Laurens is going to owe Alexander forever.

"I'm sure you have a great reason," Alexander shoots back. The _or else_ goes unsaid.

"Yeah, of course I do!" Laurens protests. "You guys have to leave. Like, ten minutes ago."

Well, that was unexpected.

Sam is as rightfully put off as Alexander. "What? Why?" she asks, and there's a hint of worry in her voice but mostly she just seems to be pissed at this stranger barging in and telling her what to do.

"The police is about to get here," Laurens tells them dryly. "They just barged in the club across the street for a random check, and if they come here too and find y'all wasted on brains Angelica is going to be in a lot of trouble."

"Shit," Sam hisses.

Alexander won't have it. "That's bullshit. Since when is it illegal to eat sheep brains?"

"It's not, but it's illegal for bars to sell them. How do you not know this?" Laurens asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised. And really fucking annoying.

"Of course I know," Alexander scoffs. "And they can start giving Angelica hell the second they can prove she was selling anything illegal."

"Forget about Angelica, they're going to give us hell no matter what. We gotta go," Sam urges, concerned.

Alexander looks at her in surprise, and feels the magic end. If Sam isn't willing to stay and fight for Angelica, who wouldn't even be in trouble right now if she hadn't stuck her neck out for them, maybe she isn't as special and cool as Alexander thought. He knows it's not fair – Sam is right, after all, the cops are definitely going to be much harder on them than on Angelica, who is a living and comes from a well-renown _filthy rich_ family. Plus, if Sam isn't even friends with Angelica there's absolutely no reason for her to get in trouble for her sake.

He knows all of this, rationally, but he still can't help the way he feels. And he feels disappointed.

"I'm not going anywhere," he states.

Sam looks at him like he's crazy, eyes wide with shock. She doesn't comment on his recklessness, though, only says: "Well I am. I'm already on probation, I don't need any more drama." She searches her purse for something, hands Alexander her card. "Call me, alright?"

He nods, not sure that he will, and watches her leave. That makes it three people he couldn't seal the deal with tonight. He'd be more than a little embarrassed by it if he didn't have more pressing matters to worry about.

Starting with Laurens' stupid face with its stupid raised eyebrows. "What are you staring at?" Alexander asks, confrontational.

Laurens frowns. "Did you really just turn down sex with that girl just so you can stay here and prove a point?"

The question is rhetorical, and Alexander doesn't owe him an explanation anyway, but he still finds himself replying, a little defensive: "She's a coward." He sees Laurens open his mouth to speak, ready to start defending a girl he doesn't even know just to disagree with Alexander, and rushes to add: "And anyway I doubt anything else was going to happen tonight. Mood's already been killed."

"So this is my fault now?" Laurens asks, and for a second Alexander thinks this is it, he's going to get pissed and storm off and finally, finally leave him alone. No such luck, though – in the end, Laurens just sighs and runs a tired hand through his hair. "Forget it, you're wasted. Let's get you home."

He makes to grab Alexander's arm, but Alexander dodges his grip. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere," he insists. "I'm staying here and helping Angelica when the cops come here with a million questions they're not authorized to ask."

"Mm-hm. 'cause it's really going to help her case to have a high aspirant lawyer on her side," Laurens shuts him down, and his condescending sarcasm is the last thing Alexander needs right now.

"I'm an _actual_ lawyer, you asshole," he reminds him, peeved. "And I'm not high. It's like Mulls said, the effects of the brains wear off after like... _Ow_!" he groans, because his idiot roommate just pinched him on the arm and it _hurt_.

The worst part isn't even the pain, though, it's Laurens' smug little smirk at the realization that he's just won the argument. "So are you coming, or do you want to be the one explaining every PDS sufferer in the city you're the reason their favorite bar owner got arrested?"

Alexander grumbles, but ends up caving and following him out.

Or at least to the bathroom door. Because before they can even get through it Laurens stops in his tracks, curses under his breath, and slams it shut with almost cartoonish haste.

"What is it now?" Alexander wants to know, and he makes to open the door again to take a peek outside, but Laurens is holding it shut.

"They're already here," he supplies. "And don't you _dare_ go argue with them," he adds, almost an afterthought, pointing a menacing finger to Alexander.

"Wouldn't it be better than being found hiding in a ladies' room? Now _that_ screams guilty, if you ask me," Alexander points out in the best sensible tone he can muster in his state.

"They're not going to find you," Laurens says decisively. He looks around the tiny space, a vain attempt at finding a good hiding place. Then: "I think you could fit through the window."

Alexander eyes the thing, a small opening on the wall opposite to the door, and shakes his head. "Uh-huh, no way."

"Come on, you're tiny, I'm sure you..."

"Fuck you, Laurens," Alexander spits. "I'm not going to get caught 'cause I got stuck in a stupid bathroom window. And, and, even if I did fit through it I'd only get as far as the courtyard, 'cause the only way out is through the bar."

Laurens thinks about it. "They're still way less likely to come look for you in there than in here."

"I said forget it."

"Hams, it's Angelica," Laurens reminds him, and Alexander really really hates him for it. Because he knows, and of course he's going to do anything for her. Even try to climb out of a window the size of his head and spend two hours in the cold surrounded by rats and trash cans, waiting for the inevitable moment when the police finds him and drags him away.

Actually, he doesn't like that prospect one bit. There isn't much he can do about it, though, not if he wants to try and protect Angelica.

Except... "Will you come with me? I don't want to be alone out there," Alexander confesses, and makes a face at how shamefully needy that just sounded. He hopes he can justify it with his current intoxicated state.

"Sure, whatever," Laurens accepts readily, and Alexander could hug him. "I'll slip out through the back door and catch up with you as soon as I can. You really need to go now, though," he adds urgently, throwing a worried look in the direction of the door.

"Okay, fine, I'm going," Alexander finally consents to the plan. Even though he still thinks it's extra dumb and unfair.

He lets Laurens push him up so that he can reach the window. Fortunately, it isn't locked, so it opens obediently when Alexander turns the handle.

That's when the real trouble starts, though, because for all of Laurens' insensitive remarks Alexander still isn't so small that he'll comfortably slip through an opening that was most likely designed to prevent people from doing exactly that – smashing it and getting in if they're thieves, or opening it and getting out if they're patrons trying to dine and dash.

He makes it eventually – more thanks to his persistence and amazing flexibility than his 'being tiny', so there. _Suck it, Laurens, you were wrong again_. He's almost tempted to yell something smug at his friend, but in the midst of all the twisting and turning Alexander has lost his balance and pretty much tumbled off the window so he isn't sure the situation calls for self-satisfied comments. In the end, he just contents himself with flipping Laurens off when his friend's head emerges from the window and he hisses a concerned: "Everything alright?"

Then Laurens is gone, and Alexander has no one to distract him from his depressing surroundings. The courtyard is only slightly bigger than Alexander's room, and definitely not as cozy – Angelica and her neighbors use it exclusively to store trash bags and cumbersome junk they haven't gotten around to throwing out yet, and it's hard to take a single step without stumbling on random crap. Alexander has to move, though, so that in case the cops decide to look down the window they don't find him smiling up at them with ostensible innocence.

He finds a spot behind an old TV and settles there. At least it's dry and out of sight. God, never, not even at his most destitute and desperate, did he go digging around other people's trash, and now here he is. That's what getting wasted and caring about people gets you, he thinks, and he's mostly joking to himself but there's some bitterness to the thought as well.

Because he's quickly reaching the point where he regrets ever agreeing to eat those damn brains. Sure, they did make him feel pretty awesome for a while, but now? Now he's stranded here all on his own and he's fucking _cold_ and the strong stink of the garbage is making him queasy. What's supposed to be so great about feeling alive, again?

"Hams? You out there?" Laurens' voice comes to him in an urgent hiss. It's immediately followed by a loud metallic sound, and a yelp, and a, " _Fuck_."

Amateur. Alexander jumps to his feet and goes look for his clumsy friend.

He finds him right out of the door that leads back inside the bar – he didn't take more than two steps before stumbling on a trash can and falling face down on a stack of papers and pizza boxes. He was lucky he landed there and not, say, on broken bottles or a pile of rotting food scraps, but he doesn't really look relieved.

"You still in one piece?" Alexander asks, offering him his hand.

Laurens takes it, allowing Alexander to help him back to his feet. "I think so," he says with a grimace, untangling a crumpled-up invoice from his hair. "God, I had no idea this place was such a mess."

Alexander snorts. "Bet you're starting to regret your decision to confine me here."

"Nah, not really. I do regret promising I'd join you, though."

"Asshole."

They go back to Alexander's spot next to the broken TV. Laurens seems to have learned from his mistakes, thankfully, so he's cautious enough not to trip over anything else. The last thing Alexander needs is him drawing the cops' attention by making too much noise, or cracking his head open on some rusty old... refrigerator door? God, but these people are living like animals. Alexander is going to have to have a serious talk with Angelica about environmental consciousness and individual responsibility.

And speaking of Angelica... "How are things inside?" Alexander inquires.

Laurens shrugs. "I didn't exactly stay to ask questions, but it looked pretty chill to me. Nothing incriminating to be found. You guys finished the last of the brains like an hour ago, and all the sensible people were long gone before the cops even showed up, so."

The dig at Alexander is clear, and he doesn't appreciate it one bit. "Forgive me for being worried about my friend."

"The best way to help Angelica was getting the hell out of there, you know," Laurens counters.

"I know," Alexander sighs, because not even he can argue with that. "I know that now. It just didn't seem as obvious before."

Laurens throws a sidelong look at him, a quick smile passing over his lips like a wave. "Do I take it that the brains' effects have worn off?"

  Alexander shakes his head. "I don't know. I'm thinking more clearly, but I'm still freezing so I guess I'm not all back to normal just yet."

"Give it time," Laurens shrugs it off.

"Yeah." He realizes something then, and laughs, bitter. "Man, I used to be good at this stuff. You know, going out, picking up strangers. Didn't do it often, but when I found the time it was a sure win. And tonight I had Mulligan's help, and the brains, and I still couldn't close." 

"You're not blaming yourself, are you?" Laurens asks, outraged. "You know if it's anyone's fault, it's mine. You and that girl would be getting it on right now if I hadn't stormed in and ruined the mood." He bites his lip and looks in the distance. "Guess I really do have a talent for killing your mojo."

The tone is playful, but his refusal to look Alexander in the eye makes him look suspiciously apologetic. Which is ridiculous. Alexander did a fine job at blowing it all by himself.

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault. You were just looking out for me," he says, bumping shoulders with him. When Laurens still doesn't look at him he insists: "Really. Save the apologies for Mulligan, _he's_ definitely going to be upset about it," he adds jokingly.

Laurens makes a noise in his throat that could either be amused or terrified. "Upset? He's going to _kill me_ ," he whines, burying his head in his hands.

"Knowing Mulls, it'll be slow and painful and when you least expect it," Alexander agrees, merciless. "All's not lost, though. I mean we're both super-smart, I'm sure if we put our minds to it we can come up with a way to save your sorry ass."

"Guess I could change my identity and get on the first plane to Canada?" Laurens suggests, and finally looks up at him, a shy little smile on his lips.

 _That's a great plan, Mulligan hates Canada, he'll never come after you there._ "Sure, you can do that," Alexander says neutrally. He bites his lip, takes a long look at Laurens, with his dark messy hair and eyes that could light up actual fires if there were any more of a spark in them and wild scatter of freckles that not even the long shadows cast on his face by the single faded lamp in the courtyard can hide completely. "Or you could stay and clean up your mess by sleeping with me yourself."

He hasn't the faintest idea why he said that.

That's not true. Of course he does. He's still a little messed up from the brains, and turned on from all the unfruitful make out sessions, and... and he fucking _likes_ Laurens. There, he said it. It's not just pretend flirting anymore, it's Alexander actually hitting on him, and... honestly, doing a terrible job at it because he hasn't even been able to admit it to himself until now.

Laurens, of course, is completely oblivious. "That's even better," he laughs. "Hey, maybe we can even ask Mulligan to join."

"No way," Alexander refuses. "I want you all for myself." He starts nuzzling Laurens' neck, finds it so _warm_ even in the cold night air. He really really wants to find out what it tastes like, lick a stripe all the way up to his friend's ear and...

"You sure you're okay, Hams?" Laurens asks, shifting away – not recoiling from Alexander, just wanting to look him in the eye.

Alexander tries to think about the question, even though it's getting harder by the second to focus on anything but Laurens, beautiful beautiful Laurens, the warmth of his skin and the strong throbbing of the blood in his veins. Shit. He said he was back to himself but clearly that's not true, there's still some kind of fog over his brain and it doesn't help that Laurens is here, he's right here and he's so full of life and Alexander wants to borrow just a little from him. If he could just...

"Hams?"

Right. Right right right. He has to answer, Laurens asked him a question, he wants to know if Alexander is okay. God, is he?

"No," he says, and it must be the wrong answer because there's the slightest change in Laurens' features, just enough for Alexander to read concern in them. Alexander doesn't want him to be concerned, he wants him to... He doesn't know, really. "I mean, yes", he amends, shutting his eyes tight. "I think." He turns to Laurens again, meets his puzzled eyes, and before he knows it he's running his hand up and down his arm in a restless, frustrated motion, his fingers rumpling the soft fabric of Laurens' sweater. "I just want... I need..."

Laurens takes Alexander's hand in his, holding it still, and kisses him.

It's almost shy, Laurens' lips barely brushing against Alexander's, and it's so far from being what Alexander needs but at the same time, well... it's enough. Because it's not just a tender gesture to calm Alexander down, it's permission. Permission to find out what his feelings for his best friend can lead to. To say screw all and do whatever the hell they like.

Permission to kiss back.

Alexander doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs the lapel of Laurens' jacket with his free hand and pulls him closer, turning the innocent graze of lips into an actual, undeniable kiss. Laurens opens his mouth readily, follows Alexander's lead as he tastes both his lips in turn, relishing their softness and inebriating flavor of the good kind of alcohol. He gasps softly when Alexander straddles him, one hand holding his face, the other still interlaced with Laurens', and kisses him even deeper. It's more empowering than winning any argument. Laurens is _so_ into him, and Alexander almost feels dizzy at the realization.

He thought after all the people he's made out with tonight he'd gotten over the whole thing, at least for a while. He was wrong. Sam and that guy from before, they were great, but this, this isn't just making him feel alive, it's making him feel... like he's running on the beach at dawn, morning breeze in his hair and the salty scent of home in his nostrils. Or like he's driving fast down a road in the middle of nowhere with music blasting from the speakers. Or getting high on weed and dancing his heart out with his best friends. It's not just living, it's that particular, thrilling flavor of being alive that gets your blood pumping and makes you feel totally free, and it's fucking addictive.

"Yep, this is definitely it," Alexander murmurs when they stop to catch their breath, his forehead resting against Laurens'. "This, this is exactly what I needed."

Laurens grins against his mouth. "It's a bad idea."

"Uh-huh, no, it's the bestest–est idea," Alexander counters, going back for more. Luckily, Laurens' doubts seem to have been mostly for show and he immediately starts reciprocating. " _God_ , you taste like a typhoon."

"You," Laurens declares as Alexander mouths his way down his neck, hellbent on savoring every inch of his skin, "are so wasted."

"I'm not," Alexander denies, more out of principle than of real conviction. Hey, if this is what being wasted feels like, he's ready to give up sobriety right this second. Sobriety's way overrated anyway.

"Yeah you are," Laurens insists. "If not on brains, you're definitely high on sens– god _yes_ ," he breathes out, losing his trail of thought the second Alexander starts sucking on the spot where his neck starts widening into his shoulder. Looks like he found the button to push when he needs his friend to shut the hell up. He just hopes he remembers it after the hangover.

"I'm sorry, you were saying something?" he asks, smug.

Laurens won't let him win this easily, though. He catches Alexander's lower lip between his own, effectively wiping the smirk from his face, and bites down on it – not hard enough to leave a lasting mark, but still pretty damn hard. Alexander whimpers. Laurens was right, his senses are into overload and he's way past the point where he still had a shred of control over his own actions. He's finally feeling again and that's awesome, but he needs more.

"I want to know how you taste," he tells Laurens, and lets his hand wander down, rubs his palm against the bulge in his friend's jeans to make the meaning unmistakeable. "Want to know what you feel like moving inside me."

" _Fuck_. Alexander..." Laurens lets out a shaky breath, and tomorrow, when he's slept off the hangover, Alexander is going to have to do a little soul searching, find out whether it's disturbing that he finds the sound of his own name coming out of Laurens' lips so incredibly hot. Right now, though, he's way more interested in making Laurens say it again.

He's just unzipped his friend's jeans when Laurens grabs his hand, stopping Alexander before he can reveal his obvious boner and start sucking him off. "No, stop, stop it, come on," he says in a rush, pushing Alexander back.

Alexander sits back on his heels and fixes his roommate with a stare in equal part annoyed and concerned. "What's wrong?" he asks, trying to swallow his frustration and the pressing need to lounge forward and start kissing his friend again.

"I can't," Laurens decides, shaking his head and zipping his pants back up. "We can't do this."

Alexander's heart sinks. "What? Why not?"

Laurens looks around, almost as if searching for a reason in the garbage graveyard surrounding them. "Because. This place is disgusting and Laf and Mulligan are going to freak and... Well look at you, you're in no shape to even consent to it," he says, making a vague gesture in Alexander's direction. Of course he had to put all the blame on Alexander. He sighs, runs a hand through the hair that Alexander has totally ruined in just a few minutes of intense making out. "God, I _told_ Mulligan this was a bad idea," he groans.

"Of course I can consent! I'm consenting right now!" Alexander protests.

"You're still high."

"Yeah, well, I was already high when you decided to start making out with me," Alexander retorts. "So what, you'll violate my mouth but won't go further than that even if I want you to? What kinda messed up mentality is that?"

"I'm sorry," Laurens says, and it's clear that that's it for him. "Hey, ten bucks says you're gonna be glad we stopped tomorrow morning."

That's bullshit, and it's so condescending that Alexander feels like slapping him, but there's not much of a point arguing with it. Laurens has already decided to treat Alexander like some smashed teenager incapable of seeing what's best for him, and there's no changing his mind in the immediate future. Better to try another angle. "And how about you, huh? Do you want to stop?" he asks, looking him straight in the eye.

"Not really," Laurens admits, holding his gaze. "But I still think it's the right thing to do."

"Fuck the right thing," Alexander says, but it comes out way more tired than defiant. He finally, reluctantly slides off Laurens' lap.

"I know," his friend says softly, and with the way he's looking at him, all sympathy and regret and frustrated longing, Alexander is sure he'd cave if he just put a hand on his thigh and started kissing him again. God does he want to.

But then Laurens shakes himself and nods in the direction of Angelica's door, and Alexander knows it's too late to do anything. "Come on, let's get you home. You need to sleep and I... I could really use a cold shower."


	14. In which Alexander goes to group therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god you guys this is SO late =X If anyone's still following this story after I bailed so spectacularly, you have all my gratitude and my most humble apologies.

Mulligan was right about one thing: there's no such thing as a brains hangover. In spite of how smashed he got last night, Alexander wakes up feeling fine, head perfectly clear and no trace of nausea, which is way better than he expected.

Unfortunately, that also means that he can recall the events of the previous night all too well – including the part where he was straddling his best friend and pretty much begging him to do him right on the spot, between an old TV and a plastic bag full of broken bottles and crashed aluminum cans. Not really his proudest moment. Then again, he also seems to remember that Laurens kissed him first, so Alexander isn't the only one with something to be ashamed of.

For once he's glad he doesn't have much time to hang around the apartment before he has to leave for work. No matter how they decide to handle it, seeing Laurens is going to be awkward.

"Morning," Laurens greets him, stepping into the room with two cups of coffee and a tentative smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Alexander replies, sitting up and accepting the mug Laurens is handing him. He takes a sip, warm and delicious, and for a second it feels like it's any other day. "No after effects of any kind. I have to hand it to Mulligan, he did give me just the right brain dosage."

Laurens nods. "Well, the guy knows his recreational drugs," he jokes. For a second he looks like he's going to say something else, but he must think better of it because he just sits down on his bed and hides behind his own coffee.

Yeah, this isn't any other day at all. If it were, they'd be having breakfast in the kitchen, where Lafayette would join them before long, and they'd probably be sitting closer together and they'd _definitely_ be talking instead of just staring wearily at each other.

"Why the breakfast in bed?" Alexander wonders out loud, more to break the unnatural silence than out of any real curiosity. "Not that I mind, but it's, you know, different."

"Thought it'd be better if we talked before we have to face the others," Laurens confesses. "About what happened last night."

Alexander nods, grateful that he breached the subject. He's sure they can get past whatever this is if they just discuss it. "Yeah, good idea."

"Okay. So, first things first... Do you owe me ten bucks?"

"What?"

"You know, because of our bet," Laurens reminds him. "That you'd agree with me. Be glad I didn't let things go further than that."

Sure. The bet. Truth be told, Alexander isn't sure he really agrees – the memory of Laurens' lips on his, of his body underneath him hardening with want all because of Alexander, is still very much alive in his mind and a pretty substantial part of him would really like to know what would have happened if Laurens' conscience hadn't awakened so suddenly and unexpectedly.

On the other hand, well... he gets it. It was far from being the right time or place to get it on, and Laurens is his best friend and they _live together_. Sleeping with each other would have meant throwing the status quo to the wind, and honestly, things are already messy enough as it is. The last thing they should do is complicate them further.

"Right," Alexander says, and starts looking through the chest at the foot of his bed, fishes his wallet out of the pocket of the jeans he was wearing last night. He doesn't have a ten-dollar bill, so he hands his friend two fivers instead. Laurens accepts them with a strange look in his eyes. "There you go. Spend it wisely, alright? No drugs or booze or action figures."

"I haven't bought an action figure in like, four years," Laurens protests, sitting back on his own bed. "And besides, you don't get to tell me how to spend my money."

"I do if it's money I'm giving you. I don't want to feel responsible for encouraging your unhealthy lifestyle."

"It's not 'money you're giving me', it's mine, period. I won it fair and square."

 _Fair_ , really? Alexander raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeah, by betting against me while I was stoned. Super-classy."

"Hey, you're the one who kept insisting you had total control over your actions."

"Clearly I didn't, if I let you kiss me."

He meant it as a joke, but Laurens doesn't take it quite that way. He bites his lip and looks away, his cheeks coloring just enough to betray his embarrassment. "Yeah. Sorry about that, I didn't..." He shakes his head, meets Alexander's eyes again. "I'm sorry. I knew it was wrong, and a terrible idea, and I still couldn't help myself."

"You couldn't..." Alexander echoes, incredulous. He was expecting Laurens to make light of the whole thing, say he was just humoring Alexander, deny and deny 'til the end. He was not prepared for self-blaming honesty. He likes it even less than the denial.

Alexander should reassure him, tell him it's okay, he didn't mind. At all.

He's going to do that in a moment. But thanks to Laurens he's ten dollars short, and even though he'll never admit it it hurt his pride a little to be turned down like that last night, so he can't resist teasing his friend a little longer. "You know, now that I think about it I didn't even see any cops at the Archive last night. Be level with me, it was all a ploy to get Sam to leave and take advantage of me yourself, wasn't it?"

"What? Of course not!" Laurens protests, appalled. "They were there, they were searching the place! Angelica was so pissed. Ask _her_ if you don't believe me."

He sounds so distressed that Alexander feels compelled to put him out of his misery. "I do believe you, you idiot. I was just messing with you."

"Well, stop," Laurens scolds him. "I feel bad enough as it is."

"What, for kissing me?" Alexander asks, as neutral as he can sound. "Dude, that's fine. For real. I mean, for one thing, I'm the one who got wasted and started getting way too handsy. And you stopped me before I... before we did anything, didn't you?"

"Yeah, how cool of me."

"Stop it." Alexander gives him a hard stare, wanting Laurens to believe him. "I didn't mind. At all. Honestly, I don't think I would have minded even if it _had_ all been a ploy to get me alone, because... well, I'd been wanting to kiss you for a while."

Laurens eyes him suspiciously. "You're still messing with me, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," Alexander denies, and he carefully sets his empty mug on the floor before sitting cross-legged on his bed, mirroring his roommate's position. Time to fess up. "I've been thinking about it since... Angelica's New Year's party, at least. Yeah, I think that was it. You sat in that back room with me, trying to comfort me and saying all the wrong things, and I think you made a flirty remark or something at some point and I started wondering, you know... what it would be like to stop dancing around it and just make out for real. I jotted it down to being heartbroken over Angelica, but truth is, I was insanely jealous of Benny even before she turned me down."

Laurens, who's been listening intently the whole time, frowns at the mention of his ex. "Jealous of who?"

"Benny? The guy you brought to the party?" Alexander helps him out.

Laurens keeps fixing him with a blank stare.

"Come on, _Benny_. Tall-ish, blond, PDS-but-not-wanting-to-look-like-it... You seriously don't remember him?" Alexander asks, and he's actually a little worried. He can understand forgetting a drunken one-night stand (even though he'd like to put it on record that it's not something that's ever happened to him), but he's pretty sure Laurens said they'd been going out for a while. Or fucking, whatever. Point is, they had something. And a month later he can't even recall his name?

He shrugs. "I mean, I remember there was a guy, but the details are a little blurry," he admits.

"You need to stop drinking so much," Alexander tells him. "I mean it. It's really fucking you up."

Laurens makes a face. "What I need is to stop sleeping with totally forgettable guys."

"Yeah, that too," Alexander agrees. Then he shakes his head. "Can we leave your terrible life choices aside for a second? I was trying to make a point here."

Laurens raises his hands in surrender. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"Thank you." He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "Look, what I'm trying to say is... We're friends. And we're clearly attracted to each other, so this was bound to happen sooner or later. It's not really that important that it was me getting stoned and all over you and not, I don't know, you having a little too much to drink and kissing me. It was a bombshell just waiting to go off."

"Okay," Laurens says slowly. "And it has, so... what now?"

What now? Almost on their own accord, Alexander's eyes drop to his friend's mouth. It felt so wet and hungry last night, so good, and Alexander's own lips tingle with how much he wants to taste it again. He doesn't even realize he's leaning in until Laurens clears his throat and looks away.

Right. Not happening, Alexander.

He closes his eyes and rubs his temples, feeling a headache coming that has nothing to do with being hangover. "Nothing much, really. We just go back to normal." His chest feels heavy as he says it, but it's the right, most sensible thing to do, isn't it? "That's what you want, right?" he asks for confirmation.

"Whatever normal is for us," Laurens mutters. He thinks of something else then, makes a face before confessing: "Mostly, I just want to keep living in this house without Mulligan bitching about us breaking his precious rules every two seconds and Laf siding with him on principle."

"Yeah, me too," Alexander sighs. "So, no more impromptu make out sessions." He takes a long look at his roommate, with his hair still messy from sleep and indomitable glint in his eyes and sweet, sweet lips and can't help hating the words that just came out of his own mouth. _This isn't going to be easy._

Laurens must understand his struggle, because he suggests: "How about we set some guidelines to prevent it from happening again?"

"Like what, banning your Zelda hoodie?" Alexander asks, and he's only mostly joking.

"I thought you hated fandom apparel."

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate you in it."

Laurens can't quite keep a self-satisfied grin from spreading on his face at the compliment, and it's almost too cute to be allowed. Yep, they totally need to set some boundaries, or there's no way Alexander is going to be able to keep his hands off him.

"Anyway," Laurens says, clearing his throat eloquently. "I was thinking more along the lines of, _no flirting when we're alone._ "

Point taken. "Fair enough. No touching either," Alexander supplies. Then he amends: "Well, unless it's unavoidable of course, like when you give me my shot."

"What about when we're writing together?" Laurens inquires. "It's more practical if we sit close to each other, but it's not strictly necessary."

Alexander thinks about it. "Guess we can both stay in our beds and you can read to me out loud, like you used to before I got my glasses."

"'course I can," Laurens snorts in what could be annoyance or fond amusement or both. In any case, he caves. "Fine, let's try it that way. You start making me re-read things a hundred times again, though, and this partnership is dead."

"I promise I'll behave," Alexander says, but can't help smirking suspiciously the second he gets the words out.

Laurens points a threatening finger at him. "You better. Okay, anything else?"

"Well, I'm not planning on having brains again anytime soon, but if I ever do it's probably better if you're not around."

"Noted. And I'll try not to drink too much when we're both at the bar."

Alexander should probably try and be supportive, but the declaration comes so unexpectedly that he cannot help sniggering. "Right."

"Don't worry, it's not going to be as hard as it sounds. You're hardly ever there anymore," Laurens taunts him.

Oh, this is so on. "Yes, because I have a job and I'm committed to it. Either of these words means anything to you? Job? Commitment?... Nothing?"

"You know, now that you mention it I think I _have_ heard them. From lame-ass people who used them as excuses when really, they just didn't know how to have fun."

"Mm. And I bet those lame people will have accomplished all they dream of when you're bed-ridden in some hospital with a failed liver," Alexander shoots back. He stands up. "Now, as fun as it is to sit here and humiliate you, I'm afraid I'm going to have to head to work. See you at shot time?"

Laurens frowns. "Aren't you going to that thing with Laf and Eliza after work?"

Right. Eliza's support group. She wasn't planning on having him for another couple of weeks at least, but Lafayette was interested in checking it out and they decided Alexander could tag along, meet the members of the group before he goes in and gives them a long impassioned speech about everything wrong people like them have ever done to people like him. He... isn't exactly looking forward to it. As great as Eliza's idea seemed on paper, he's starting to fear he'll only end up fighting with each and every one of those people. After all, he can count on one hand the number of living he can stand.

"Hams? You didn't forget about the support group, did you?" Laurens asks when Alexander fails to reply to his earlier question, and if he keeps talking in that mocking tone there's going to be one less living Alexander gets along with.

"As a matter of fact, I did," Alexander admits. 

He feels Laurens' smug eyes on him the whole time it takes to pack his medication. Only when he's done does his roommate finally talk. "You need to stop working so much, you know. It's totally fucking you up."

"Fuck off."

  

Eliza said she'd meet them at the Archive after dropping Philip off at a friend's house, and Alexander and Lafayette figure they might as well have a drink there while they wait for her. Mulligan is there too, making mean comments about another patron's haircut, while Laurens is suspiciously absent. The paranoid part of Alexander's brain can't help wondering if it has something to do with him – if that's how things are going to be between them from now on. Breakfast conversations about boundaries and avoiding each other as much as possible.

He really wishes he'd turned in early last night.

"I'm just saying, you know... Fucking commit to it. It's supposed to be dread _locks_ , plural. That thing, that's just ridiculous."

" _Allez_ , don't be a nazi. Obviously he likes it."

"Or his hairdresser had a grudge against him."

"Taste is supposed to be subjective," Angelica points out. Alexander would be surprised to hear her join Laf and Mulligan's dumb squabble if he weren't too busy moping. 

"Yeah, but the fact that he looks like his head randomly sprung a tail isn't."

"Oh my god," Lafayette bursts into laughter. "That's it, I'm getting a single dreadlock too. And you'll have to get over it because you love me."

"Sure. And then I'll cut it off while you're sleeping."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"And burn it right under your eyes."

"You _monster_."

"You're quiet today," Angelica observes, turning to Alexander.

He shrugs. "Guess I'm just tired."

She gives him a very eloquent eyebrow-raise. "Well that's something I never expected to hear. Is Washington working you too hard?"

 _Maybe, but it's not like I mind_. "As a matter of fact, he is," Alexander says, feeling himself grow angrier as he talks. Nothing better than bitch about his boss to forget about his complicated relationship with his best friend. "It's like he went and looked for the worst lawyers he could find for his firm, and now he has to spend all his time doing his associates' job for them. Which means he has to rely on me for literally everything else – answering the hundreds of emails and phone calls he gets daily, correcting his ignorant students' papers, doing his laundry, walking his mongrel of a dog..."

"Wait, you have to take care of his laundry too?" Angelica interrupts his tirade, surprised.

Alexander makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nah, not really. He's married, thank god," he reminds her, taking a sip of his beer. PDS-friendly beer has been getting slightly less disgusting lately, he muses. Or maybe he's just getting used to the taste.

Angelica glares at him. "I'm sensing some heavily sexist implications."

Yeah, that probably wasn't the best thing to say – especially to Angelica. What the hell is wrong with him today? "Let's say it's a powerless but indignant assessment of an unjust reality?" he hazards, giving her his best apologetic smile.

"Mm. Decent save," she accepts it, taking his empty glass away. He hadn't even noticed he'd finished his drink already. Usually it takes him ages to get through one because he's so busy talking, but today he feels more like sitting in silence and getting drunk. Not a good sign. Eliza better hurry and distract him out of his misery.

Although, on second thought he might have a way to distract himself while he waits. Tuning out Mulligan and Lafayette's voices, that are very annoyingly discussing the fact that even with the brains' help Alexander went home alone last night and _that_ must be the real reason he's so dispirited today, but just wait and see, Mulligan is going to get him laid this weekend, they just need to try a different tactic... Tuning out this delightful conversation, Alexander takes advantage of Angelica's Wi-Fi to look up _spring of light charity ny_.

 _Ignorance is not God's plan_ , the official page of Gal's charity tells him. Laurens would probably make some nasty remark along the lines of, _Could have fooled me_ , but Laurens isn't here so Alexander can scroll through the page in peace.

Looks like their main goal is to give an education to children in destitute countries – a cause Alexander can totally get behind. There's a "donate" button, and information for people who want to become volunteers, and pictures of kids with dark skin and bright eyes, and quotes from people they helped and some stuff about Jesus. Pretty standard stuff. Normally, Alexander would be cautious about giving his money to an organization he knows nothing about, but if his friends say Gal was an okay guy and he actually _volunteered_ with those people he figures he can spare himself the trouble of running a background check. Besides, he isn't donating the money because he believes it's gonna make a difference in the world, he's donating it because he has a debt to one Phocion Galanis and this is the only way that he can think of to repay it.

Mulligan doesn't seem to be of the same opinion. "Wait. You're not giving them money already, are you?" he asks, incredulous, after he takes a snoop at Alexander's phone and sees he's already on the "donate" page.

"Why not?" Alexander shoots back. "You said Gal trusted these people, right?"

"Yeah, but the guy was wearing rose-colored contacts behind his rose-colored glasses," Mulligan argues. "You can't trust his judgement on this."

"What do you say?" Alexander turns to Lafayette. It's usually pretty hard to say whether Mulligan means what he's saying or he's just teasing, but Alexander is confident Lafayette will settle this.

He taps his finger on his lips, thoughtful. "It might be wiser to look into it," he decides in the end. "As much as I trust Gal, it is possible that he was deceived first."

"Fine," Alexander gives up, locking his phone and setting it back on the bar. "Now I just need to find the time to run a full background check on a charity based in... Kansas, was it?"

He knows he's being childish, but he can't help being upset about it. After that pointless conversation with Laurens this morning and a day spent cleaning up other people's messes without getting any benefits or recognition for it, he was itching to get something useful done. Even if it's paying up a debt.

"Don't fret, my friend. I can make sure everything's kosher for you," Mulligan offers.

Alexander looks at him in surprise. He knows Mulligan enjoys this fake espionage kind of things, but he thought with WinterShow taking place in exactly twenty-six hours he'd have other stuff on his mind. "Would you? Really?"

Mulligan shrugs. "You know I have friends in the force, it's about time I called in a favor after all I've done for them. Besides, it'd only be fair after I failed you so spectacularly as a wingman last night."

"Thanks. Appreciate it." Alexander nods, relieved. Something still doesn't sit well with him, though, so he adds: "And I wouldn't say you failed me _spectacularly_. It's been a while since I've made out with three different people in the same night."

"Three?" Mulligan asks, perplexed. "Hate to break it to you, but it was two. Unless you're counting Cami, but I don't think your trying to smooch her and her getting grossed out and leaving really qualifies as making out."

Alexander was counting Laurens, actually, but it's probably better if Mulligan never finds out. "Whatever. My point is, I did have fun last night, even though the cops came in before I could close any deals."

"Oh well, there's always the weekend," Mulligan threatens, giving Alexander's back an encouraging pat. "And WinterFest is tomorrow. You play your cards right, you can come back here with some bendy model and make up for all the sex you haven't been having since you moved back."

"Forget it. I'm not smuggling brains for you ever again," Angelica declares.

Lafayette clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment. "And here I thought you were the type to laugh in the face of danger."

"I'm afraid you have me confused with the owner of that other PDS bar you like. You know, the one that was closed down months ago 'cause they kept letting you talk them into breaking the law?"

Lafayette laughs. "Touché."

"So this is officially a PDS bar, now?" Alexander inquires, because it's the first time he's heard Angelica use the term. She usually seems to prefer the more generic 'PDS-friendly'.

She spreads her arms in a hopeless gesture that encompasses the whole place. "Do you see a single living person around?"

Yeah, she's got a point. It's Friday evening and the bar is starting to get crowded, but the clientele is all PDS – in large groups, pairs or singles, with or without make-up, looking more or less ready to wreak some havoc... In spite of the many differences, they all have that one thing in common. Angelica owns the place, and she's kind of the odd one out.

Even Eliza showing up doesn't do much to balance things out.

"Hey there," she greets her sister, kissing her on both cheeks. Angelica looks a little embarrassed, but doesn't try to elude the display of sisterly affection. Then Eliza turns to Alexander and his friends. "Good to see you, guys. Are you still sure you want to come?" Her playful tone betrays a little hesitation, almost as if she couldn't believe they're willingly going to pour their hearts out to a room full of strangers. 

Well, Laf is. Alexander is just going to listen today.

" _Mais oui, bien sûr_!" Lafayette exclaims. "Are we leaving now or do you want to grab a drink first?"

"It's probably better if we go. We're already late as it is, the group is supposed to start in less than twenty minutes." She gives Angelica an apologetic smile. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course I do," Angelica says, and she sounds almost serious. "You're ditching me for the broken-hearted moms club. I'm wounded."

"You have to work anyway," Eliza reminds her. She kisses Angelica on the cheek – just the left one this time. "I'll try and stop by after the group, I promise."

"I'm counting on it."

Eliza smiles in a fond, exasperated way, and turns to Alexander and Lafayette. "Ready to go, then?"

"Sure." Alexander hopes so, at least.

 

"Hi everyone, I'm Stephanie. I'm 36, I own a small bookshop in Queens, and I'm married. My wife, huh, she died three years ago. She's been back for... four weeks now. God, has it only been four weeks?"

"Name's George. I'm a firefighter. I too have a PDS wife."

"Annalise. I teach Anthropology at NY Community College. The PDS member in my family is my 82-year-old father, and he's been driving us all crazy."

"My name's Paula, I'm a high school student. Senior. You're probably going to think I'm a horrible person, because my brother's been back for almost three months now and I still can't look him in the eye. I try to avoid him as much as possible. We must have exchanged like, four words in the last month. It's just... so weird, you know? He's weird."

"I'm Sal. I drive a taxi, but my full-time job is single father. My– my teenage daughter's been having a really hard time readjusting to life. She'd kill me if she found out I came to a group like this... to talk to strangers about her, you know... but I'm at my wit's end here."

"You can call me Lafayette – it might sound exotic but I guarantee it's a walk in the park compared to my first name. I know this group is aimed at the living, but I asked Eliza if I could join and she was gracious enough to let me. I really hope you're as kind and welcoming as she."

A humming passes over the people sitting in the circle of chairs – guarded acceptance. Give it just a little more time, Laf will win over all these people. And if he doesn't, well, it's their loss.

Everyone's eyes are on Alexander then, and he realizes it's his turn to introduce himself. "Alexander Hamilton. I'm here because..."

 _Because Eliza asked me, and she's such a good person that I couldn't say no to her. Even though I'm pretty sure I'll hate all of you soon enough._ He's already suspicious of most of them – Paula the 'I act like a jerk but you don't get to give me hell about it because I already hung a lamp on it' teenager, Annalise with her casual remarks about her father ruining her perfect life, and George, who hasn't really said much but has been sending Alexander contemptuous looks pretty much non-stop.

He swallows, holding their perplexed stares with defiance. "I'm here because Eliza felt it might be good to have a PDS voice in the group, someone to help you see through your loved ones' eyes. Especially since it's easy for the living to forget the hardships and discrimination PDS sufferers have to face every day – not only at home but out in the real world, where they're treated like third-class citizens at best and hunted down like dangerous, disgusting vermin at worst."

The murmuring that follows his declaration is decidedly more hostile than the one Lafayette got. Nobody has the gall to say anything to his face, though, and Eliza doesn't look too alarmed yet, so he figures it was a good enough start all things considered.

"And I'm Eliza, for those who are new to the group," she concludes the round of introductions. "I'm a music teacher, a single mother with a PDS boy of 12, and the facilitator of this group – which I think says it all. I'm not here to tell you what to do, only to make it easier for all of us to help each other out. So," she says brightly, looking at the faces around her with kindness and a glint in her eye that betrays her eagerness to get to work, "how are you feeling today? Does anyone want to go first?"

Silence falls. The people in the circle look down, or throw quick glances around them – at the person sitting next to them, at the clock on the wall, at Lafayette and Alexander, who can't help wondering if they're the reason no one feels like talking this evening.

"Okay. I'll start, then," Eliza decides after a few long, uncomfortable seconds go by without anyone stepping forward. "Ever since I got that phone call from the treatment center that took Philip in every day's been a lottery for me, emotion-wise. I remember listening to a nurse telling me they'd found him with tears in my eyes, barely even registering what she was saying because I kept thanking God in my head. I was overjoyed. And I almost feel bad saying this, because I know that thousands of people have lost so much, but to me the Rising was a miracle. It gave me my boy back, and with him, my life."

There's a thin veil of tears over her eyes that makes them look even bigger and deeper. Alexander is struck by the strange, sudden thought that as brilliant as he can be, he'll never be quite as wise as Eliza. She's the kind of person even he can learn something from.

"Then reality set in, and I quickly realized that a miracle isn't the same thing as a magic cure. Yes, Philip was back, but that wasn't our happy ending – it was simply the beginning of a new, much harder journey. Everything's different than it was when he was alive, and I'm not just talking about the obvious. I'm talking about the little things that make all the difference if you put them all together. He's started having trouble making friends at school. He misses making s'mores and actually being able to eat them. He's been playing the piano since he was six, and now he's been forced to go back to a beginner's level because his joints don't work as well as they used to. He's frustrated and moody, and it breaks my heart to see him struggle like this."

Alexander is looking at Eliza with a furrow in his brows. He can't quite reconcile the image she's painting with that of the shy, affectionate boy he knows. Then again he doesn't really know Philip, does he? He's only seen him a couple of times, and never for more than a few minutes. Hardly enough to get a clear picture of the kid's internal struggle. And really, he shouldn't even be that surprised, considering how long it took him to realize that Laurens, with whom Alexander has spent pretty much every second of the last two months or so, must be suffering from some form of depression.

What happened to him? He used to be much better at reading people.

His trail of thought is interrupted by Eliza confessing in a cold, low voice: "So sometimes, when it gets especially bad, I wonder if it hadn't been better if Philip had stayed dead."

"You can't mean that!" Alexander blurts out. He's seen her around her son, heard the warm love in her voice whenever she's talking to him or simply about him. There's no way she wishes he'd never come back.

She faces him, calm and still talking in that soft voice, but not ashamed or apologetic. "I do. Do you realize that Philip will never have a chance at a normal life? I'll never teach him how to drive. He won't fit in with his high school friends, because he'll still be a kid in their eyes – and truly, a big part of him will always be. He'll never get married or have kids, either. I'm going to be his family for as long as I live, and then..." She trails off, and Alexander feels suddenly very cold. He doesn't want to imagine the bright, wide-eyed kid that stole his heart so quickly spending eternity alone. That's what's bound to happen to him, though, isn't it? Either that, or a bullet to his head because he can't bear the loneliness. Like all the lost souls that have already chosen oblivion over oppression. Like Peter. "So yes, sometimes I do think that for Philip it wasn't worth coming back to this kind of life," Eliza reiterates. She looks around the circle then, asks: "Anyone else feels the same way?"

The silence lasts considerably less this time before it's broken by Sal, who clears his throat and says: "Uh, yes. I do, sometimes. I mean, it's hard not to when my daughter is sad and angry all the time."

"Angry at you?" the girl sitting next to him – Paula, she said her name was – wants to know.

"At me, at the people in her school, at the whole world," he replies hopelessly. "I think school is the biggest issue for her, actually. She used to be really well-liked, popular even, and now..." He sighs, throwing his hands to the sky in resignation.

"She's being ignored," Paula concludes for him, not really a question.

Sal shakes his head, though. "She wishes she was. No, she's the only PDS student in her school, so the other kids are picking on her. Nothing too extreme, just name-calling, stuff like that, but she's really upset by it. She keeps telling me how much she hates it there these days... Well, on the rare days she's talking to me, at least."

"Why not send her to a different school, then?" Lafayette suggests, and really, that sounds like the sensible thing to do.

Sal fixes a hard stare on him. "That's out of the question."

Lafayette nods, ready to back down, but that doesn't sit too well with Alexander. His friend's question was perfectly legitimate, and he deserves better than to be silenced like that. "Why?" Alexander challenges the father. "You said it yourself, she hates it there, why wouldn't you even consider finding her someplace better?"

"We don't run," Sal replies proudly. "My daughter has always worked hard in school, and she deserves to be there as much as everyone else. I'm not going to let a bunch of teenage jerks have such a big influence on the rest of her life. What kind of example would I set? That fleeing when things get tough is an acceptable solution? It isn't."

Well, that's a reasoning Alexander can understand. It's more like his life creed, actually – he wouldn't have accomplished anything if he'd let people tell him where he did or didn't belong. There's one glaring, fundamental difference between him and Sal, though – while Alexander's choices were always about himself and himself only, Sal is making the decision for his daughter.

"And have you ever consulted your daughter about the issue?" Alexander presses on. "Because really, you sound like you don't really care about her happiness so much as your..."

"Alexander?" Eliza interrupts him, a vague threat in her polite tone. "Cool it. Let the man talk."

Alexander is so put off by the unexpected strength in her voice that he promptly obeys. He's quickly coming to realize that even though Eliza and Angelica might not be really blood-related, they do share the same fierceness.

Even more unexpected, though, is Sal's reaction. "Thank you, Eliza, but he's right," he admits, looking down. "I must have wondered the same a hundred times. Am I really doing what's best for my girl or am I just being stubborn? But, you know... What if I do send her to another school, and it just makes things worse? Then she'll still be unhappy, and she'll also know I think she's weak."

"Yeah, maybe," Alexander concedes. "You can't know that, though. What you do know is that things are awful for her right now, so why not take a chance and try to make them better?"

"Easier said than done."

"It takes more courage to recognize that something isn't working and move on than to blindly cling to whatever you already have, doesn't it?" Eliza muses.

Sal opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by a loud sob. Stephanie, the first woman to introduce herself earlier, is crying in her seat. She looks mortified when everyone turns to look at her.

"I'm sorry," she says, standing up. "I should probably go, I..."

"You don't have to," Eliza tells her. "You're free to leave if that's what you want, of course, but you can stay with us and we can talk it out if you like. Or would you rather take a break?"

She shakes her head, sitting back in her chair. "No, I'm fine." She dries her eyes, takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about my own stuff, and what you said about moving on... Guess it hit a little too close to home."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"But what about Sal? I don't want to..."

"It's fine," he says. He looks at Eliza, adds: "We're all here to help each other, aren't we?"

Eliza smiles at him. "Exactly. So please, tell us what's on your mind, Stephanie."

She takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to gather the strength to confess: "I want to leave my wife." Tears start streaming down her cheeks the moment the words are out, but she doesn't stop talking. "I feel terrible saying this, but it's the truth. I tried to go back to the way things were, I swear I tried, but it's not working and I'm tired of pretending. Things with Aly, they're just not the same anymore. How could they be, after three years? I've moved on. I've met someone else, and I'm happy with her now. But Aly, Aly never got her chance to do that, and I can't throw her out after everything that's happened to her. I know she wouldn't understand."

"It's okay," George murmurs, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she smiles weakly in gratitude. It's kind of sweet.

"I feel the same way about my father," Annalise steps in. "His place is not with my family, and he's doing nothing to make things easier for us, but how can we throw him into the street? Because that's where he's going if he's not staying with us."

"That's right. How can I do that to Aly?" Stephanie asks.

It's a rhetorical question, but Eliza must feel it needs a response anyway. "I think you're both forgetting something here. Aly and your father, Annalise, they're both adults. They can find jobs and make it on their own – you're not responsible for them."

That's very near the last thing Alexander expected to hear from her. Isn't this group supposed to help people adjust to the changes that having a PDS family member is inevitably bringing into their lives? And Eliza is suggesting they just send their PDS loved ones on their way? That's not solving the problem, that's refusing to even engage with it.

Annalise looks as appalled as Alexander feels. "How can you say that? He's my father. I'm not washing my hands of him."

"But you won't be there for him forever," Eliza points out. "He's going to have to make it on his own eventually, so why not start now? At least it'll give you some peace of mind."

Annalise shakes her head with determination. "I don't care. As long as I'm here, he's not going to be alone. And I have three kids who love him, he can stay with one of them when I'm gone. Or maybe alternate between them. I'm sure they'll figure something out," she declares.

"So what you're saying is you _want_ to take care of him, no matter how hard it's going to be?"

"Of course I want to. It's the right thing to do, isn't it?"

"That's something you have to decide for yourself. But you already sound pretty convinced to me," Eliza tells her. She turns back to the other woman then, asks: "What about you, Stephanie? Forget about what you think is expected of you. Think about Aly. Do you want her to be a part of your life? And for how long?"

Stephanie stays silent for a while, mulling over the question. Then, softly but with conviction: "I think I do. For a long time even, if that need be. But I... I don't want her to be such a _huge_ part of my life."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to see her every day for the rest of my life. I don't want to have to fight with my girlfriend about her. I just... I want to help her out, but not at the expense of my own happiness, you know?" She must realize how selfish what she just said must have sounded and looks down in shame. "God, I'm a horrible person, aren't I?"

"Of course you're not," Eliza reassures her, and she means it. "I think we all need to let go of this idea that self-sacrifice makes us good people. It doesn't. You shouldn't be ashamed of wanting to take care of yourselves, and trust me, there's plenty of ways to lend a hand to those who need it without giving up your own happiness. Okay?"

Stephanie bites her lip and nods. "Okay. Thank you."

"Thank you for your honesty," Eliza replies. "Now, what would you do if you were in Stephanie's situation? Anyone?"

There's some more glancing around before Lafayette speaks up: "I'd leave my wife," he says slowly, carefully looking at Stephanie for a reaction. One more tear rolls down her eye, but she waits in silence for Lafayette to finish. "Be honest with her, tell her it's been too long and I've moved on. But, I'd also tell her she can stay a while. Take some time to put aside some money, find a good place to move to. Possibly somewhere better than a PDS public house."

"Yeah, I'd do that too," Paula agrees. "I think it's a good compromise."

"No, I can't," Stephanie protests, shaking her head.

"Why not? It's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes! I mean, maybe. It doesn't matter, I'm not going to do it."

"What are you even doing here, then?" Alexander asks, and he's faintly aware that a confrontational interrogation from him is probably the last thing the woman needs right now but he can't quite bring himself to stop. "I thought the whole purpose of this group was to help you guys learn something. To figure out a way to better yourselves. And you have, there _is_ a way for you to turn your life around– along with your wife's, and your girlfriend's – but you won't take it. You're too chicken for it. Don't you realize that this way you're just wasting..."

" _Alexander_ ," Eliza's voice threatens, almost as furious as it is appalled, and it's probably a good thing that Lafayette steps in before she or Alexander can say anything else.

"Let's take a break, _oui_?" he asks Alexander, standing up. "I think these lovely people might use some time on their own, no judgement from the PDS community."

Alexander opens his mouth to protest. Then he catches Eliza's cold stare and thinks better of it. "Sure, whatever," he agrees.

They step in the hallway, Lafayette holding the door open for Alexander before following right after him. The building that hosts the group's meeting is an elementary school by day, and the walls are decked with sloppy drawings in colored pencils and felt-tip pens. Alexander's eye is caught by one with four figures standing in a circle, PEACE scribbled in all-caps above them. They're all holding hands – the girl with bright pink skin and blue eyes, the boy with dark brown skin and black eyes, the girl with yellow skin and slitted eyes, the boy with grey skin and pinprick eyes.

It would be way more touching if Alexander weren't sure that the teachers that encouraged the kids to choose such tolerant, enlightened subjects for their art are most likely the same that turn a blind eye when their minority students get bullied by their classmates.

"Look at that, PDS is its own ethnic group now," Alexander jokes with Lafayette. "So what do you think that makes us? Is there such a thing as a Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferer Of Color or is it considered..."

"What was that in there?" Lafayette cuts right to the chase, ignoring his dissertations,.

"What do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. Why did you have to be so... so antagonizing and disruptive? Eliza invited you so you could _help_ those people, not crucify them."

"Yeah, I know," Alexander admits, sagging against the wall. He thinks of something and huffs in self-deprecating amusement. "I still don't know how she got that idea. Me, helping people? Living people?"

 "You _could_ make a difference if you tried," Lafayette protests.

Alexander isn't so sure of it, though. "I was trying. I swear. That's why I got so nasty." He sighs. "It's just so damn frustrating. I mean, you've heard what Stephanie said. Or even Sal, for that matter. They don't need us to tell them what the right thing to do is, because they already know. They just won't grow up and do it. Because that would be admitting that the Rising changed things, you know? And that, that's what they're terrified of, all of them."

"Yeah, and it's perfectly understandable. Letting go of that sense of normalcy, of security, is scary," Lafayette tells him softly.

"It never stopped me," Alexander reminds him with pride.

Lafayette shrugs. "What can I say? Every person is different. And every situation, too." He looks pointedly at Alexander. "Your choices, they only affected you. It's easier to jump into the great unknown when you know you only have yourself to worry about."

He has a point, Alexander admits begrudgingly. For the longest time it was him and his mother, working hard to sustain themselves in this cruel new world, but after that Alexander has been on his own. And as lonely and difficult as it's been, he can't deny that it took some of the pressure off – if he failed, he was only failing himself. He could dare more, push himself harder, and not worry about hurting someone else with the risks he took.

Still, Lafayette's reasoning is kind of depressing. "So what, are you saying that it's better not to have friends and family? That they only slow you down, make you doubt yourself at any turn?"

"Of course not! I'm just saying, it's perfectly normal to hesitate when you know your actions could make you lose someone you love." He looks at Alexander as if he could pull secrets out of his mind if he only focused hard enough. "I don't believe for a second you've never played it safe because you were afraid of ruining a relationship of any kind."

He might as well believe it. There aren't many people Alexander has cared about in the course of his life, and even less he cared about so much that he'd let his affection for them dictate his actions. Besides, the people worth keeping around are the ones that wouldn't even put you in the position of having to make such a choice in the first place, aren't they?

He knows that's not what Lafayette means, though. They're not talking about childish ultimatums here, they're talking about that fear of screwing up and losing the people you love that no one can ever shake off completely. Not even Alexander. Didn't he lie to Laurens just this morning, told him he regrets what happened between the two of them last night and wants things to stay as they were before?

Shit. He's no better than that bunch of whiny living at the group – knowing exactly what they want and too frightened to do shit about it. Alexander Hamilton, the guy who'd fight an army to defend his beliefs, is so afraid of losing his best friend that he won't even tell him the truth about the way he feels.

Yeah, no way.

"I have to go," he tells Lafayette. It's impulsive, and dumb, but after an hour in the company of people too afraid to take the smallest step towards what they want he kinda feels like being dumb and impulsive. "Can you tell Eliza I'm sorry?"

"What? Why?" Lafayette asks, thrown off by Alexander's sudden resolution. "I'm sure the others wouldn't want you to leave."

Alexander raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "Well, I for one am sure the group is going to run way more smoothly without my disruptive, antagonizing presence. Besides," he adds quickly, before Laf can think he's mad at him for reprimanding him about his behavior, "that's not why I'm going. I've just realized there's something I should do."

"Right now? May I ask what it is?"

"You may, but I'm not going to answer."

"Of course you're not." Lafayette sighs. "Fine, I know better than to try and change your mind. Just know that Eliza is going to be upset."

"I'll make it up to her," Alexander decides. He doesn't know how yet, but he'll figure something out. He will. Right now, though, there's someone else on his mind.

He rushes home.


	15. In which Alexander feels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on trying and going back to an every-other-Friday updating schedule, but then I realized there was no way I'd be able to add the new chapter tomorrow. So here it is instead, ONE day earlier than I planned! I'm so proud of myself you guys ;P
> 
> Beware mentions of depression and self-harm ahead. And probably a few more mistakes than usual, I didn't have time to re-read this my usual 10-12 times... ^^'

Laurens is sitting cross-legged on his bed, one of his tomes filled with gross pictures and medical jargon opened in front of him, headphones on, and a concentrated frown on his face. How he manages to get any studying done like that is a mystery Alexander hasn't been able to crack yet.

"Hey, Hams," he says, looking up at Alexander.

  Who gives him a tired smile. "Hey yourself. We missed you at Angelica's earlier." He knows it's dumb to go fishing for information like this, it's not like Laurens is going to outright admit to him, _Get used to it, I wasn't there because I'm avoiding you_ , but he still can't help himself.

"Yeah, sorry. Thought I'd get some work done for a change" is Laurens' excuse, and fine, it might even be true for all Alexander knows. It sounds suspicious, though. All the more so when Laurens goes back to his textbook, not even bothering to ask Alexander how Eliza's group was or if something crazier than usual happened at the bar.

It took Alexander almost an hour to get back home – plenty of time to come up with a course of action, he thought. Instead he ended up using it to talk himself out of the whole thing more than anything. It's not like anything has really changed since this morning, after all. He'd be putting everything on the line here – his friendship to Laurens if he doesn't feel the same way, to Laf and Mulligan if he gets mad enough to rat Alexander out to them, even the roof above his head if things really escalate from there. And for what? For a chance at getting it on with a guy he has only known for a couple of months? Even someone half as smart as Alexander could see it's not worth it.

Surprisingly enough, it's Laurens' uncharacteristic disinterest in Alexander that gives him the final push. Maybe Lafayette is right, maybe some relationships are too important to be ruined by unnecessary risk. However. Ship has kinda sailed in this case – things between Laurens and him haven't been normal all day. They can't be, not until they start being honest with each other again.

Better to start now, then, because Alexander can't take another moment of strained silence between the two of them. 

"I want my ten dollars back," he says out of the blue.

That gets Laurens' attention. "What?" he asks, taking his headphones off, caught off guard by the strange declaration.

Alexander sits on his bed so that his eyes are level with his friend's and finally lets out the words he's been wanting to say since this morning. "You heard me. You were wrong last night – I wasn't wasted, just... hyperaware of everything around me, I guess. And yeah, it was a little overwhelming, but it's not like I wasn't in control of my actions. I wanted you to kiss me, I wanted that and so much more, and it had nothing to do with the brains and everything to do with you." Laurens bites his lip and looks away, and Alexander knows he's making him uncomfortable but can't seem to stop talking just yet. There's something else he needs to get off his chest first. "Want to know how I'm so sure of it? Because I'm completely sober right now, and I still feel the same way. I still want all of that." He licks his lips, carries on: "And yeah, it's terrifying, but I've already wasted enough time being afraid so... so I'm telling you. I lied. I don't care what Mulligan is going to say, or that it's going to make things complicated. Uncomplicated is boring anyway. I'll give that up any day if it means I can have you."

There, he did it, he was honest and brave and he doesn't regret it. Even though he has to admit he'd feel a little better if Laurens said something to it, or at least looked him in the eye.

No such luck, apparently. Alexander clears his throat, finishes lamely: "So, yeah. You owe me twenty bucks."

"Twenty?" Laurens asks, and finally looks at him, his brows furrowed.

It is a little disappointing that that's the only point in Alexander's whole speech he decided to dignify with a reply, but it's better than the uncomfortable silence from ten seconds ago. "Mm-hm. The ten you unjustly collected from me this morning, plus the ten you owe me for losing the bet. Twenty," Alexander repeats matter-of-factly.

"Right." He stands up with a sigh, and for a second Alexander thinks he's going to get the money from his wallet. Instead, he closes the distance between their two beds. "See, problem is, I'm a little short on money these days," he says, positioning himself astride Alexander's lap in a direct mirror of their positions from last night. He locks his arms around Alexander's neck, and it's far from being the closest or most inappropriate they've been around each other, but in the light of Alexander's confession it feels like a pretty big deal. All the more so when Laurens looks at him from under his lashes and jokes: "So I was wondering if maybe you'll accept some other form of payment?"

Again, not that different from their usual playful flirting. And yet.

"What did you have in mind?" Alexander asks, trying to hide his tension behind a half-smile.

"Wouldn't you rather I showed you than told you?" Laurens counters, cheeky, and for a second it looks like he's going to kiss Alexander but he ends up going for his ear instead, blowing softly into it.

And Alexander... Alexander can't take it anymore. "Wait. Are we really doing this?" he needs to know.

Laurens, unfortunately, is still in a teasing mood. "Relax, you'll get your money. I'm not really so broke that I have to sell myself for twenty bucks."

"Forget about the stupid bet!" Alexander snaps. He hates to sounds so vulnerable, but Laurens' detached joking around is driving him crazy. He's starting to understand what Laf meant when he told Alexander their mutual friend is not really boyfriend material. "Is this going anywhere or are you going to change your mind again? 'cause I'm tired of..."

Laurens lets his hand slide to Alexander's cheek, runs his knuckles along his jaw. "Alexander," he says, slowly, and he finally sounds like he's not mocking him. In fact, he sounds terrified himself. "I'm in if you are."

That's all Alexander needed to hear. He catches Laurens' mouth with his, picking up right where they left off the previous night – there's no need to be hesitant this time, they already know how into each other they both are. If anything, Alexander wants it to be faster, rougher. He's not on brains tonight, which means the few sensations he's getting are coming to him somewhat faded, like distant sounds underwater, and it's driving him crazy. He remembers all too well how Laurens' lips felt against his own less than twenty-four hours ago, and as good as it still feels to have Laurens eagerly following his lead, completely at Alexander's mercy, he can't help craving the strong, overwhelming sensations of their previous make-out session.

"Wait, stop," Laurens says, pulling back. Alexander feels his stomach drop. Is this really happening again? But Laurens doesn't stand up and start lecturing him about how wrong this is and nothing like it can ever happen again. He just shakes his head at Alexander and complains, "You're doing this wrong."

Alexander scoffs. "Are you sure? 'cause I guarantee there's a long list of people ready to vouch for my expertise in this particular field. You included, if the way I just got your blood pumping is any indication," he adds poignantly. Mentioning other people's blood one minute into foreplay might not sound like the best idea, especially if they're living, but he knows Laurens well enough that he doesn't have to worry about freaking him out. Sleeping with a friend does have its perks after all.

Laurens raises an eyebrow. "And how about you, huh? Is it working for you?"

"Man, I really hope this isn't a turn off for you, but I don't really have a pulse?" Alexander teasingly reminds him. "Afraid it's part of the zombie package, _Doctor_."

"Aren't you a delight," Laurens comments, pinching his side, and just because Alexander can't feel it, it doesn't mean his heart doesn't warm up at the familiar gesture. He can't remember the last time he's had someone in his bed who wasn't all about business. Who took the time to joke around before going for the kill. "Just, as a general rule – don't try and debate me on PDS biology, you're just going to embarrass yourself. I know you don't have a pulse, but that's beside the point. You were enjoying it way more yesterday, weren't you?"

"Yeah, because I was on brains. Believe it or not, it's much more fun to kiss someone when you actually get to feel it." He realizes how that must have sounded to Laurens' ears and rushes to clarify: "Not that I want to call it off. I'm okay just making you feel good for now."

Laurens rewards him with an affectionate smile and a quick peck on the nose. "That's really cool of you, babe, but we wouldn't be doing this if it were all about me," he sets things straight. Whatever that's supposed to mean. Alexander doesn't get to ask him, because Laurens immediately concludes: "Just follow my lead, alright? And take your time. Enjoy it."

Alexander complies. He lets Laurens set the pace this time – slower, torturously so. He doesn't even know why it's so frustrating to him – Laurens is right after all, it's not like he was getting much enjoyment from it earlier. At least he could relish his power over Laurens before, though, the way his friend's breath hitched and his heart started racing the more frantic and intense their kisses got. Now it just feels like they're both getting bored, and it's a pretty depressing way to start their first time together.

Assuming it's the first, and not the only one. He's painfully aware of Laurens' dumb no dating policy, and while a pretty consistent part of him is self-assured enough to think it's not going to apply to him, he can't help wondering whether he'll end up like the dozens of Benny's that came before him, used and then forgotten.

Alexander banishes the thought to a dark, untraveled corner of his mind and tries to relax into the kiss. He's been looking at it all wrong, he decides. Instead of whining about what the experience is lacking, he should focus on all the great things it entails. Like Laurens' proximity, for starters – nothing extraordinary in itself, but again, it's the context that's different and is giving it a whole new meaning. Laurens is so close that Alexander can hear his heartbeat if he tries, and it's not because they're poring over the same laptop or because he's so drunk that he couldn't stand on his feet otherwise. It's because he likes Alexander. Because he _wants_ him.

Then there's Laurens' total focus on Alexander. That's the best part, actually. He remembers sitting by the bar at the Archive, watching Laurens from afar and resenting Benny for stealing his best friend away from him, and now Laurens is in Alexander's bed, kissing _him_ like they're the only two people in the world. Like he could keep going forever. And there's Laurens' scent, sweet and not tainted by alcohol for once, his gentle hand at the back of Alexander's neck, his lips, so soft and warm and... 

Wait a second.

He chases Laurens' mouth, tries deepening the kiss. Laurens must understand it's all part of their freaky experiment because he lets him, even follows the dance of Alexander's tongue with his own, and yes, god yes, Alexander is definitely feeling it now. Not quite as he did last night, but more than enough to steal a whimper from him.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Laurens says, and pulls back to take a better look at Alexander. "Better, huh?" he asks, smug.

"Totally," Alexander replies sincerely. He plants one more kiss on his lips, trying to convey all his admiration and gratitude in the small gesture. "You're amazing."

Laurens, as usual, is so emotionally stunted that he can't take a compliment with a normal _thank you_. "Stop trying to flatter me. In case you haven't noticed, I'm already throwing myself at you," he jokes instead.

Oh well. If that's the only kind of foreplay he's comfortable with, Alexander is more than happy to play along. "Really?" he asks, a threatening glint in his eyes. "So I guess you're not going to mind if I do this?"

He pulls Laurens down on the bed with him, rolls over so that he's the one on top and starts kissing him again, not just his mouth this time but his jaw, nose, ears too. His freckle-sprinkled cheekbones and the hollow of his throat, where the flesh is soft and sensitive and his pulse is racing.

Alexander hasn't felt such a rush since before the treatment center, when he was feral and free and finding a meaning to life was as simple as cracking a skull open. He shudders at the thought. Where is the thought even coming from? He has no real recollection of that time, never got any flashbacks to show him just how bad it got. And more importantly, would Laurens be afraid if he told him about it? Probably. He'd definitely find it disturbing. Hell, Alexander finds it disturbing and he's the one getting high on the thought.

He slides his hands underneath the countless layers of Laurens' clothing – sweater, shirt, both undershirts, _why does the guy have to wear so many fucking layers_ – and pulls them over his friend's head in one careful move, throws them in the general direction of the other bed. The original plan was to go back to kissing right after, but he gets distracted by the sight of the lean, strong body underneath his. Even though they've been sharing a room for over two months now, Alexander has never seen Laurens' bare chest before, he realizes with mild surprise. And okay, it makes sense because winter in New York is a bitch and the shower is halfway across the building and they have no heat, but still. It's a supreme injustice that Alexander was deprived of such a spectacle for so long.

"Is there something wrong?" Laurens asks, growing impatient at his stillness.

"Yes," Alexander replies seriously. "I'm going to throw away all your goddamn sweaters."

Laurens laughs, jokingly preening under his appreciative gaze. "Not bad for a nerdy med student, huh?" he asks, smug.

Normally, Alexander would feel compelled to put him in his place, but what the hell. His friend looks like a Greek god and he has every right to brag about it. So he plays along, quips: "Well, you know what they say – you can't spell student without stud", and winks.

Laurens' eyes widen in horror. "You did _not_ just say that," he says, making to get up and leave. "Sorry, I can't. I can't do this. God, I'm so disgusted with myself right now."

Alexander pokes him in the ribs. "Shut up, that was brilliant and you know it."

"Seriously? It was the worst... _Mmhyeah_ ," Laurens' protests die the second Alexander starts to mouth his way down his chest. Alexander grins against his skin. For the record, this totally counts as him winning the argument.

For real, for all his drinking and sitting around geeking out over random crap, Laurens is in surprisingly good shape. If it turns out he can fit regular visits to the campus gym into his already overflowing schedule, Alexander is going to join Laf's party and declare him some sort of superhuman being.

He's tempted to ask, but quickly reconsiders when he realizes that it would mean taking his mouth off Laurens' body. His lips have really come alive now and he's relishing the sensations they send him – the salty trace of sweat on Lauren's skin, the firm curve of his pec, the smoothness of his freckled shoulder, and most of all his warmth, the unmistakeable sign of life. Alexander chases it all over his friend's upper body, going from his neck to his heart to his nipple (the sound Laurens makes when Alexander flicks his tongue over it is the best thing he's ever heard) to his shoulder, all the way down his arm and...

... and that's where Alexander stops. Because the skin of Laurens' forearm isn't as smooth as his biceps', and Alexander wishes he didn't know why that is, but he does.

He pulls back a little, just enough to see it: a crisscross of lines and dots, stark white against Laurens' golden skin, a subway map of scars that connects pain to pain and breaks Alexander's heart.

"My god, Laurens," he murmurs, tracing the pattern with his fingers. He can't help himself, can't even seem to look away.

"What? What's up?" Laurens asks, pulling himself up to check what prompted Alexander to stop exploring his body. He doesn't pull his arm away when he finds out, but he doesn't seem too pleased with the interruption either. "Oh. I told you, they're from a while ago. No need to worry about it," he shrugs it off. He starts kissing Alexander's temple, stops when Alexander doesn't respond. "Does it gross you out?" he wonders, and there's a hint of worry in his voice.

Alexander shakes his head. "No, of course not. It's just... That's a lot of cuts, Laurens."

He shrugs. "Guess I had a lot of feelings."

Alexander hates it. He hates the way his friend talks about it like it's nothing, like running a blade across your skin is something every dumb teenager has to try sometime, no biggie. Like the pain that prompted him to hurt himself somehow loses meaning just because he was so young when he felt it.

Then again, it is true that there are no fresh wounds on Laurens' body. He wasn't lying when he told Alexander he's kicked the habit. So maybe belittling whatever he was feeling back then, acting like it was nothing more than a childish call for attention, is actually working for him. Alexander is not going to lie, he finds that hard to believe, but he's going to have to. Laurens has made it perfectly clear that what Alexander already knows is all he feels like sharing with him on the topic.

"I'm sorry," Alexander says.

Laurens misunderstands his meaning. "Not your fault. You didn't even know me back then – and even if you had, it wouldn't have made much of a difference."

"No, I know. I meant for bringing this up. You're right, it's none of my business."

"Oh." Laurens' features soften, and he lets his arm slide out of Alexander's grip, holds his hand instead. "Well, it was bound to come up, wasn't it? At least you didn't run away screaming." Alexander is tempted to ask if that ever happened with someone else, but thinks better of it. Besides, Laurens is not done talking. "I just don't want you thinking about me as someone I'm not. Not anymore, at least. I see you sometimes, looking at me like I'm this... this falling crystal ball just about to collide with the ground and shatter into a million pieces, and I hate it. It makes me feel like more of a mess than I already am."

"You're not a mess," Alexander argues. "Or you don't look like it, at least. Honestly, I would still be clueless if you hadn't told me yourself that you feel..." Useless? Worthless? Like you won't ever belong anywhere? Alexander can't bring himself to finish the sentence. None of those words feel right to describe his friend. "And that's exactly why I'm worried. You're way too good at hiding what you're thinking, and I'm afraid of the thoughts that might be going through your head even when you're smiling and drinking and joking around."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I hardly ever feel like shit when I'm around you," Laurens says. Alexander is so grateful that he gets to kiss him now, because he couldn't have heard Laurens say that and not lean in, place a soft kiss on his lips. He lingers there for a moment, breathing him in, feeling so blessed that the two of them got to exist at the same time and find each other in such a great big world.

When Laurens' lips part and he tries to deepen the kiss, Alexander pulls back. They're not done talking yet. "How about when I'm not there?" he needs to know. "How do you feel then?"

Laurens bites his lip. "I do have bad days," he confesses, slowly. "But I have good ones too. I'm managing, I told you."

"I know. I just wish I could help you," Alexander tells him. He feels totally useless and he can't stand it.

At least Laurens seems to appreciate the sentiment. "Thank you," he says sincerely, bringing Alexander's hand to his lips and kissing it. When he meets his eyes again, there's a mischievous light in them. "You know, I usually feel pretty awesome during sex. Just throwing it out there."

Alexander huffs, amused. "Point taken."

They've had enough big talks for one day. Time to have some fun for a change.

 

Sex without a pulse is weird. Well, not in a bad way. It's... different, though. Back when Alexander was alive, blood burning hot in his veins, it often felt like a race to the finish line. Oh sure, it usually started with the flirting game, and the hesitant thrill of the first kiss, but after that it wasn't long before passion took over and his mind was consumed with the need to find release.

There's no rush this time, no ultimate goal to reach. Every moment is as relevant as the next, all pleasure is the same and equally intoxicating – be it the scrape of Laurens' teeth against his bared throat, the desperate little sounds he makes when Alexander pulls on his hair, or even the drag of his hand lazily stroking Alexander's soft cock through his jeans. It all blends together, a symphony of pleasure Laurens is all too good at playing on Alexander's body. Or maybe it's more like a duet, both of them learning how to harmonize with the other to bring something beautiful to life.

Either way, Alexander could go on forever.

So he can't help letting out a frustrated groan when he starts unbuttoning Laurens' pants and his friend grabs his hand to stop him, drawing back a little. "Woah, okay there. Stop. Stop, let's take a break."

"What's wrong?" Alexander asks, not even trying to hide how disappointed he is. It's the second time Laurens has done this in less than twenty-four hours, and it's starting to get annoying. Doesn't he want Alexander to touch him?

Laurens shakes his head, though. "Nothing. It's all good." Alexander makes a face and he laughs, leaning in to steal another kiss from him. "Way better than that, actually. I swear. I just need a second, okay?" He clears his throat. "I, uh, need to cool off."

Oh. Right, that makes sense – except for the part where it doesn't. "You don't have to," Alexander protests. "You can let go if you want. I'll make it good for you," he adds with a suggestive smirk.

Laurens chuckles. "I don't doubt it. But I don't want to come just yet." He licks his lips, nervous or turned on or both, before confessing: "I want to come inside you. Want you to ride me 'til I can't hold back."

Well, fuck. "Yeah," Alexander accepts eagerly. "Yeah, let's do that."

Laurens smiles. "In a moment," he promises, kissing Alexander's mouth one last time before standing up. Alexander can't help whining at the sudden loss of Laurens' warmth and contact, which Laurens seems to find amusing 'cause he's a jerk. "Shut it. I'll be quick." He opens his cabinet, picks a few things out of it and throws one in Alexander's direction. "Here. You can start without me if you're bored."

Alexander picks up the lube and starts turning it in his hands, less than impressed. "Nice. So you can leave all the work to me and come in when the fun begins?" he complains, more on principle than anything. Even though he's never been fucked before, he's had some fun with it on his own once or twice and he remembers it as a pretty amazing experience, so it does sound like the best way to pass the time while Laurens... opens the window and sits in front of it, apparently. Looks like when he said he needed to cool down he meant that literally.

"Well it's only fair, since I've been doing most of the work up until now," Laurens shoots back.

Alexander would keep arguing about it if he wasn't distracted by something else. "Since when do you smoke?"

Laurens looks at the cigarette in his hand as if he didn't quite know how it got there. "I hardly ever do," he finally supplies, and takes a drag. "Why, do you mind?"

"Nah. I just assumed as a doctor you'd know better."

"I told you, it's not like I'm really a smoker." He must think of something else then, because he smiles a strange smile. "Besides. Everyone dies of something."

"Don't I know it," Alexander says, and it earns him a smile from Laurens, a genuine one this time.

Alexander can't quite tear his eyes from him. He's always known his friend was beautiful, but tonight... Tonight, sitting on the window wearing only a pair of jeans that look enticingly tight against his boner, his dark hair all ruffled up, cigarette in his hand and the lights of the city dancing on his face, he is so much more than that. Alexander's world is so big, so full of ideas and battles and dreams and projects, but right this second nothing feels as important as Laurens. Right this second it's just them and the night, and the hungry look in Laurens' eyes as he stubs out his cigarette and jumps, down the window and back into Alexander's arms.

It's the careful movement of Laurens' fingers inside him, not painful but not exactly comfortable either. The dark look in Laurens' eyes when he sees the marks and bruises on his body and cries into his skin that he didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve it, that those who did it are going to pay someday.

And it's the way Laurens lies on his back and guides Alexander into his lap. The breathless cries that escape their mouths almost at the same time when Laurens finally pushes into Alexander, eager and hard but still careful enough. It's the dance of Alexander's body on top of him, hesitant at first and then faster, faster, fast as he realizes it doesn't hurt at all.

He looks down at Laurens, pushing up into him like he wants to blend with him and disappear forever, fade into him and be gone. It's a bittersweet thought, and Alexander pushes it away. He doesn't have room for bitterness of any kind now.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he tells his friend. He'd lean down to kiss him, but he doesn't want to interrupt the pace they've fallen into so he contents himself with stroking his cheek with the back of his hand.

Laurens turns his head and starts sucking on his fingers, hard, and something close to a sob escapes Alexander's lips. He pulls them out with a wet pop and uses them to tease Laurens' nipple.

"Fuck. Alexander, _fuck_ , I've dreamed of this for forever," he confesses.

Alexander snorts. "Pervert," he quips, and Laurens huffs, amused.

Looks like he's too far gone to come up with a comeback. The most he can do by this point is cry out Alexander's name and a litany of yes, yes, oh my fucking god _yes_. Alexander isn't doing that much better. He's not dangerously close to going over the edge like Laurens is because there's no edge for him to get over, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel spent. The sudden overdose of stimulation is beginning to take its toll.

He sinks down on Laurens' cock a little more forcefully and feels his friend's hips stutter, the rhythm broken, and just like that Laurens is coming, head thrown back, hands desperately clutching the sheets, hips pushing frantically into Alexander to try and get the feeling to last longer, be more intense. Alexander lets him, rides him until the high is passed and Laurens goes limp beneath him. Then he slides away and does his best to lie beside Laurens in the small bed.

It helps that Laurens regroups almost instantly. He turns to his side, taking Alexander into his arms and beginning to kiss him. Alexander didn't even know if he should expect cuddling – he definitely didn't expect Laurens to get back in the game so soon, to bite Alexander's lips and jerk him off with a hand as eager as it's experienced. Seriously, is the guy even human?

"There's no way in hell I'm believing you're already up for round two," Alexander says, though he does a little, and he finds it terrifying in the best way.

Laurens laughs, and it reverberates across Alexander's skin. "I'm not," he recognizes, kissing Alexander's chin. "But you just made me feel amazing, and you deserve to have the favor returned."

"I'm not believing you found some way to give me an orgasm, either."

"And you're right again." Laurens stares at him with that look in his eyes, his hand still stroking Alexander's cock. "I can make you feel amazing, though. Promise."

That, Alexander has no trouble believing. He wants to tell Laurens that – tell him he's already made him feel better than anyone ever did. That he made him realize that just because he can't have normal sex anymore, it doesn't mean he can't have good –great, in fact– sex. They can go to sleep now without Laurens having to feel like he owes anything to Alexander.

But Laurens is offering, and it could be the first and last time he does for all Alexander knows, and honestly... even if it wasn't, it's way too tempting to pass up. He wants Laurens to keep touching him, to keep his body awake with the sole power of his hands and lips and skin. He wants it so much that he forgets how tired he was just a minute ago.

"Alright," he agrees. "Show me."

Laurens smiles. "With pleasure."

So Alexander closes his eyes and lets himself feel.


	16. In which Alexander gets a chance

 doesn't remember the last time he woke up feeling so perfectly content. There's a grin on his face before he even regains full consciousness, memories of the previous night resurfacing from the sleep fog in bits and pieces, spreading a warm, satisfied feeling in his chest.

He rolls over so that he's facing his roommate's bed. Laurens retreated there at some point before dawn, arguing that the last thing they needed was to have the night ruined by Mulligan or Lafayette catching them red-handed and throwing a tantrum and Alexander's bed is too small to comfortably fit two people anyway. Alexander agreed, of course, but he can't help wishing Laurens stayed anyway. Now that he's awake without Laurens in his arms it's way too easy to convince himself that it was all a dream, something destined to melt away in the light of day.

Not that there isn't any evidence that last night happened. For one thing, Alexander's nervous system isn't completely asleep yet so he's basking in the afterglow of hours spent with Laurens' wicked hands and mouth on him, his body still thrumming with a faint tingle of pleasure. And then there's Laurens, of course – he might be back in his bed, but that doesn't mean for a second that things went back to normal. Gone are his trademark long sleeves, thrown to the floor at some point last night and forgotten there, and he's lying with his bare back to the ceiling, the marks Alexander left there well on display. He was so spent last night that he forgot to be careful, and Alexander probably shouldn't feel so smug about it but he does.

He takes a few more seconds to appreciate the sight of his... of _Laurens_ spread out on his own bed, looking as peaceful during sleep as he does fiery when he's awake. Alexander wants nothing more than to climb into bed with him and mouth every single vertebra on the way down Laurens' spine, wake him up and waste the day away with him, but he's supposed to leave for work soon and he isn't going to compromise his position in the firm just because he finally got laid. Even if the person he got laid by is the sexy genius he's been crushing on forever.

His phone's alarm finally kicks him out of bed. Alexander rushes to turn it off, not wanting to wake his roommate – it's hard enough to be strong and responsible with him still asleep, and Alexander can't guarantee he won't decide to blow off work after all if Laurens wakes up and asks him to. Which he would surely do, because it's Laurens and he can't seem to have quite grasped the notion of _full-time job_ yet.

Alexander is just about ready to leave when he stops. Laurens knows he has to go to work, and anyway they live together, it's not like Alexander could give him the slip even if he wanted to, but he still feels a little bad leaving like this after they slept together for the very first time. He's been walked out on enough times to feel uncomfortable about doing anything remotely close to it himself.

He debates his options for a second before getting his phone out and shooting Laurens a quick text.

_Leaving for work. Talk later? x_

He hits _send_ before he can change his mind about the _x_. It feels a little childish and cheesy and they don't usually use that kind of stuff (well, Alexander doesn't. Laurens seems to have decided to substitute all of his punctuation with old school emoticons, and Laf and Mulligan actually have some challenge going on about who can use the highest number of arguably relevant emojis in their texts), but that's precisely why he's forcing himself to put it in this particular message. He wants Laurens to know things are different between them now, that Alexander wasn't just looking to get laid and then carry on as usual. That what happened last night mattered beyond the heat of the moment.

Of course, he muses as he steps out of the apartment, there's no guarantee Laurens is on the same page. If previous history is any indication, he's way more likely to act like nothing happened. Or well, that it did, but it doesn't have to mean anything. Laurens has never been very forthcoming about his sex life, but between what Alexander has seen firsthand and what Lafayette has told him he's pretty sure he isn't the kind of guy who thinks sleeping with someone once, or even a few times, must automatically lead to dates and commitment and wedding plans. Just look at what happened with Benny.

Let's be real though, Alexander is light years ahead of that. He's not just one of Laurens' pretty boys, they actually know and care about each other and that makes all the difference. While last night was a lot of fun, it was way more than that. It was intimate, something Alexander has been craving even more than physical gratification since... forever, really. What they talked about, and the way Laurens would stop and stare into Alexander's eyes every now and then, the praising words he whispered against his skin, they were not the stuff of unattached one-night stands.

Still, Alexander can't quite ignore the nagging voice at the back of his mind wondering how many of Laurens' conquests have felt the exact same way over the years.

He spends the whole walk to Dandridge & Washington alternating between the conflicting states of mind, smiling fondly at some recollection from last night one minute and feeling like a lovesick sucker the next. Then he finally gets to work, and soon enough he's too mad to keep worrying about Laurens.

He's just about to start sorting through the day's paperwork when he's summoned by The Boss – not Washington, his wife and associate Martha Dandridge. That in itself doesn't promise anything good. For all their differences, Washington is still the one who hired Alexander in the first place. He believes in him, even though he doesn't always listen to him. Dandridge seems to see him as her husband's little helper, and she doesn't turn to him unless she's really desperate – which, granted, tends to happen more often than one might think since the rest of her staff is totally inept not only at their jobs, but at life in general.

Today seems to be one of those days. "Hamilton. I need you to write the complaint for the  Shepherd case," she says the moment he steps into her office. It's only a few minutes past 9 AM and she already sounds done with everything.

Alexander knows he should just say _yes ma'am_ and get to work, that's what Washington would want him to do and probably the most sensible course of action, too. But come on, who wants sensible when you can take a dig at your incompetent superiors instead? "I thought Conway was already on it?" he asks innocently.

Dandridge turns up her nose – a pretty impressive task, since balanced on said nose is the biggest pair of red glasses Alexander has ever seen. "Conway will be lucky if he's still on the staff after his contract expires," she replies, stern. She immediately catches herself. "But that doesn't concern you. I emailed you all the information you're going to need – try and be done by today. We've already lost enough time."

Well, that's a bummer. Looks like as fed up as she is, she's still too much of a professional to badmouth her associates in front of Alexander. There goes their one chance to bond. "Yes, ma'am," Alexander says, and retreats.

He wonders when his bosses will finally open their eyes and fire everyone in the place except for Alexander and Glenn the janitor. What the last straw will be. In any case, it can't come soon enough.

As Dandridge promised, there's already an email from her in Alexander's inbox – marked as "urgent", of course. Everything she sends him is. Alexander is about to open it and dive into work when his phone's screen lights up with a message from Laurens.

_Don't think a measly virtual kiss is going to make up for your sneaking out like that._

Alexander smiles. Normally he'd ignore the text until he's on lunch break, but today he can't bring himself to leave Laurens hanging. Good thing Alexander is an excellent multi-tasker – one more skill he has on the utter disgraces he has to work for. With. Whatever.

He opens Washington's email and starts reading it as he types his reply to Laurens.

>>> I thought you were too macho for cuddling?

_< << You texting from the firm? O.O Man. I should have slept with you sooner._

>>> Shut up, this has nothing to do with you.

_< << Yeah it does. I turned you into a bad boy ;]_

>>> You wish. I had a criminal record when you were still playing with Pokémon cards.

_< << You mean like two days ago? ;P_

>>> Nerd.

_< << Hey, who's the more nerdy, the nerd or the nerd who's banging him?_

>>> Hold on.

_< << What is it?_

>>> Shit.

>>> Sorry, I'll talk to you later. Gotta go get fired.

Alexander doesn't wait to see what Laurens has texted him back. He puts the computer on sleep mode and walks back to Washington's office. He really really wishes her husband were here today instead of her – he usually lets Alexander get away with pretty much everything, and even when he doesn't, at least he listens to his reasons. Dandridge is way more likely to show Alexander the door without wasting much time thinking about it.

"What is it?" she asks without looking up from the paperwork spread out in front of her.

Alexander takes a deep breath – both to calm down and because he's going to be talking for a while. "I'm not going to write the complaint," he states point-blank. That does get Dandridge's attention. She finally looks at him, a perplexed frown furrowing her brows. "In fact, I'm disgusted and disappointed you even took the case in the first place. Some asshole suing a PDS sufferer for things that happened during the War? That's ludicrous and you know it. But the worst part is, no matter how ridiculous the case is, you are going to win it. I mean, of course you are, there's a kid involved, who's going to side with the bloodthirsty zombie that traumatized him? Nobody, that's who. So the bad guys are going to win again, and it's going to set a precedent, trust me, everyone will start making up shit to make money at the expense of random PDS sufferers, and things will get even worse for people like me and it's going to be your fault. So go ahead, sell yourself out if you like, but don't expect me to have any part in it."

He raises his chin with defiance, braces himself for the reprimand that's sure to come after such a mutiny.

It doesn't come. "Is that all?" Dandridge asks, sounding only slightly annoyed. Like Alexander is just a kid who's being difficult. Of all things, did condescension have to be the trait she shares with her husband?

"Yes," Alexander confirms, and for once he isn't sure what to say next.

"Good. Shut up and listen to me, then," she commands. "You're right, the case is a sure bet, and that's exactly why we took it. We need the money and good press."

"Are you serious? What about..."

"The PDS community?" she interrupts him. "You really think this case is going to make a difference? People are smart and greedy. It's only a matter of time before cases like this one start springing up, regardless of how this goes. Besides, if we don't take the case Shepherd is just going to turn to someone else."

Everything she's saying makes perfect sense. Still, Alexander can't let it go. "Let him, then."

"How is that supposed to be better?" she asks, and yes, she definitely sees him as some sweet naive child. "You'd still have to face all the bad consequences, and we wouldn't even earn a profit from it."

"We would if we took the defendant's side," Alexander points out slowly. Of course, this might work, how did he not think about it sooner? "Think about it. The guy Shepherd sued is some big shot CEO, right? He can pay us to represent him. So when we win, we'll have the money, and we'll have helped someone who deserves it, and we'll get to say we won our client a seemingly impossible case instead of having victory handed to us on a plate."

"Except that we won't win the case," Dandridge argues. "You said it yourself, no jury is going to give the defendant any credit."

"I can win it," Alexander decides right on the spot. "I know I can. Just put me on the case, I promise I'll..."

"Absolutely not," Dandridge cuts him off. "Jesus. What kind of firm do you think we are? You're not even a proper lawyer, I can't..."

"Of course I'm a proper lawyer!" Alexander protests, indignant. "I'm a better lawyer than anyone else in this dump. You know it, your partner knows it. And I know budget is tight and all but I'm not asking for a raise, alright? All I want is a chance."

Dandridge looks at him for a long moment, pensive. "So what you're saying is, you'll work on the case on your current salary?"

Alexander sneers. Not the kind of reaction that's going to win him points with Dandridge, but he can't help himself. "I'm already working on cases on my current salary. At least this time I'll get to do things my way instead of wasting hours fixing other people's messes."

Dandridge purses her lips, but she doesn't contradict him. "And how do you plan to win the case?" she inquires instead.

"I... don't know yet," Alexander admits. "But I can guarantee you I'll come up with something. Just let me talk to the client and go through Shepherd's version once more, I'm sure I can find all I need to build a solid case right there."

"I'd be taking a huge risk," Dandridge reminds him.

She's right, he's asking her to put a lot on the line. And while Alexander has already proved his smarts and reliability time and time again, she has no way to know how he'll do in court. Especially with a case like this – difficult, and maybe just a little too personal to him.

Still, she isn't fooling Alexander. "And it's going to be worth it," he says with conviction. "You already know it, or you wouldn't be wasting your time nitpicking everything with me right now."

Dandridge sighs, and Alexander knows he's won. "Call the defendant. If he's willing to pay us as much as Shepherd, you can take the case."

"Yes!" Alexander exclaims. He has to catch himself before he throws his fist in the air or starts dancing and makes Dandridge regret her decision two seconds after taking it. "Thank you. I won't disappoint you."

"You better." She turns her attention back to her paperwork, but when Alexander is about to step out of the office, her voice stops him. "Oh, and Hamilton? I happen to be quite proud of this place. You call it a dump again, you can go looking for work somewhere else."

 

Good news? Alexander is awesome at his job. Not the job he's paid to do, any idiot could sort emails for Washington – the job he studied for, the one he's finally doing now. He convinces the defendant (Bloom, his name turns out to be) to hire them and gets an appointment with him for nine o'clock the following morning; reads up more on the case; thinks about it, long and hard; and finally calls off the appointment with Bloom, because he already has everything he needs to win.

Bad news? He gets so caught up in the whole process that he forgets about everything else – lunch break, Laurens' increasingly aggravated texts, and worst of all the fact that he was supposed to leave the firm the second his work day ended and rush home to get ready for Mulligan's exhibit. He only remembers all that when Glenn patiently asks him to step out so he can clean up the office, lock the place and head home – or more likely, to some other underpaid job. And by then it's too late for Alexander to waste a single minute trying to make himself look presentable for a fashion show.

He gets there exactly thirty-four minutes late, which is impressive considering that he was already late when he left the firm. Still, he somehow suspects Mulligan and the others won't appreciate it all the same.

"Excuse me, are you press?" the young lady at admittance asks him, looking him up and down with badly concealed discomfort. It's clear she doesn't believe it herself.

"No, I'm not," Alexander admits, "but I'm not interested in the main event, I'm just here for the students' show."

"I see," she accepts politely, and for a second Alexander almost believes that's the end of it, he's going to get in and find the others and everything is going to be okay. Then: "Can I see your pass?"

Yeah, it did sound too good to be true. "My pass?" Alexander asks, baffled. "I understood admission to the students' show was free?"

"It is, but you still need a pass," the girl explains. It sounds like this isn't the first time she's had to give the whole spiel tonight. "The seats are limited, so we can't allow just anyone in. For security reasons, you see. You were supposed to register online, print out your pass, and show it here."

"I know. I did, but my friends have my pass and they're already inside."

"I see." She thinks about it for a second. "How about you call them, ask them to bring you the pass?"

"I'd love to, but my phone's dead."

The look in her eyes says _Sweetheart, I've been doing this job for a while. You think I've never heard that excuse before? Are you that desperate or do you just think I'm really really dumb?_ It's a pretty eloquent look.

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for you."

Alexander raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "Are you telling me all the seats are already taken?"

"That's not the point. I can't let you in without a pass," she insists.

"Look, the show started forty minutes ago. I'm sure everyone who was going to show up is already inside. What difference does it make if I join them?" Alexander asks, and he knows he's making a good point because the girl doesn't argue with what he said, she just stands in front of him with a conflicted air about her. Time to deliver the final blow. "Please, you'd be doing me a huge favor. My friend is going to kill me if I don't show up."

The girl sighs, and comes to a decision. "I'm sorry, I really am, but my hands are tied here. Now, if you could be so kind to..."

"No, come on, you don't understand, I _need_ to get inside!"

"Here's an idea: why don't you be a big boy and throw a tantrum _after_ I get in?" a voice asks from behind him. A woman's voice. Why is the entire female population turning against him all of a sudden?

Alexander turns to give the stranger a piece of his mind – and forgets what he was going to say. The woman who just threw shade at him is the kind you couldn't ignore even if you tried: full red lips, a slitted dress that matches them, and a body anyone would kill for. Make-up doesn't look as strange and unnatural on her as it does on most PDS people; instead of making her skin look like it was painted by a four-year-old, it gives it a golden radiance that goes incredibly well with the long, dark waves of her hair. And she isn't wearing any contacts, so her eyes are as deep and expressive as if she were still alive. Most importantly, she was just extra-rude to Alexander, so in any other circumstance nothing could make him overlook her.

Today, though, Alexander is so shocked by the guy on her arm that her beauty and terrible manners are the last thing on his mind.

"Burr? What are you doing at a fashion show?"

His neighbor is annoyed at having been caught red-handed, he must be, but he's also really good at concealing it. "Alexander. I'm just accompanying a friend," he says neutrally, smiling in the direction of the woman.

Alexander does not have his poker face, and his bafflement must show from a hundred miles away. Seeing Burr at a fashion show is weird enough, but in the company of such a stunning woman? How is this real life? Did he pay her? Did he drug her? Is she repaying some kind of debt her family has to him?

At least he catches himself before he voices the sentiment out loud. "Oh. Right. That makes sense."

"Shouldn't you be inside already?" the girl behind the counter is asking.

Burr's date throws her hair up in a dramatic way. "What's wrong with being fashionably late?" she jokes. When the girl regards her with a horrified expression, she bursts into laughter. "Relax, I'm not working this evening. Don't tell anyone, but this is too high profile for us shameful, shameful zombie models," she adds conspiratorially, lifting an open hand to the corner of her mouth. "I'm just here to enjoy the show."

"Oh. Thank goodness." The girl hands her two tickets. "Have fun, then."

"We will," she replies with a suggestive wink, before turning to Burr. "You coming, dear?"

"Of course," he promptly confirms, all too glad to be spared the awkward conversation. "I'll see you around, Alexander."

"Sure," he replies, distracted. The second the odd couple is out, he's going to have to go back to begging for a way in and he isn't looking forward to it.

The woman isn't moving, though. She's fixing Alexander with a curious stare. "So you're a friend of Aaron's?" she finally asks him.

Well, friend is a bit of a strong word, but she doesn't need to know that. "Sure. We, uh, live in the same building, actually."

"We're more acquaintances than friends," Burr sets things straight. Spoilsport.

She smirks, malicious. "And you both came here this evening? Isn't it a funny coincidence?"

"Not really," Burr explains. "A friend of Alexander's is showcasing his designs tonight, and we both heard about the exhibition from him."

"So _that's_ why you suggested we came here!" she playfully accuses him. "And here I was thinking you just wanted to look at hot models." She shakes her head, laughing, and starts walking to the entrance. Then she stops again. "Feel free to tag along, Alexander."

He looks up at her, hopeful. "Really?"

"I don't think that's..." the girl at admittance starts protesting, but the woman shushes her.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. It's not like one guy is going to get you in trouble, is it?"

"Well, actually..."

"Awesome, dear, I knew you'd come to your senses. Make sure you give him a VIP pass."

The girl sighs, subdued, and hands Alexander a ticket. She shoot daggers at him as he thanks her – as if he planned the whole thing. He wishes. Being saved by Burr's unbelievably cool date was the last possible outcome he'd foreseen.

"Thanks," he tells her as the three of them step inside. "I owe you one."

She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Please, don't even mention it. Any friend of Aaron's is my friend."

"Acquaintance," Burr corrects her again.

"Sorry. Any acquaintance of Aaron's is my friend," she amends, cheeky.

Burr looks like he doesn't know if he wants to kill Alexander, the woman or himself.

"So how do you two know each other?" Alexander asks, trying to change the subject.

"Work," Burr replies quickly.

Too quickly, in Alexander's opinion, but then they're out of the entry hallway and right where the show is happening, and he has no time to dig deeper – mostly because he's more focused on trying not to get squashed into a pulp by the hundreds of people cramming the place. God. Alexander was in the middle of an actual riot two weeks ago and he doesn't remember it to have been as chaotic as this show. There aren't even that many people, but the venue is way too small to host them all and the blinding lights and pumping music don't really agree with Alexander's enhanced PDS senses. There is a catwalk, probably, but it's so far away in the sea of people that believing in its existence is more like an act of faith.

Burr tells him something he doesn't catch. In Alexander's defense, he'd probably have an easier time understanding what he's saying if Burr broke character for just a second and tried to shout above all the noise. Even though shouting is such an undignified thing to do.

" _WHAT?!_ " Alexander yells back at him.

Burr's friend-slash-date-slash-co-worker grabs Alexander by his shoulder and points at a little door to their right. The sign taped to it says, _Special Events_. It only takes Alexander a second to get the hint – Mulligan's thing must be taking place in there. Assuming they aren't wrapping things up already.

With a grateful nod in Burr and his friend's direction, he walks the little distance that separates them from the door and slips in. The lights are still obnoxiously intense and random, but at least the music is coming slightly muffled from behind the door and the audience is sitting, which makes it easier for Alexander to find his friends in the crowd.

"Hey guys," he greets, flopping down on the vacant seat next to Angelica.

"Well look who's finally here." Her welcome is less than impressed. "Nice of you to grace us with your presence, jerk face."

"I'm sorry. I got held up at work and then the lady at admittance wouldn't let me in and..."

"Shut it, I'm trying to watch the models."

Okay, so Angelica is mad at him. The others too, probably, since they haven't even bothered to acknowledge his presence. He wants to complain, say it's unfair, and in a way it is – he was at work after all, trying to make things better for the community. It's not like he ditched them for his cooler secret group of friends or anything. Still, he knows his friends have been worried about him putting work before them since the day he moved in and he feels horrible for confirming their fears. There's nothing he hates more than being a disappointment, and he most definitely disappointed them this evening.

He sags against his seat, mad at Washington and at that stuck-up girl at admittance and at this whole stupid show and most of all at himself.

A blonde model in a ridiculous long coat and crazy high heels is taking to the catwalk, and Alexander lets her confident stride distract him from his misery. It's really impressive how badass she manages to look even in the awful clothes she has to wear. She doesn't falter for a second, walking straight to the end of the catwalk without looking anyone in the audience in the eye, makes a graceful turn and disappears back behind the curtains. Alexander finds himself wishing he were as untouchable and collected as she looks. He could use that low-key vibe of fuck off she's giving off from yards away.

The models, male and female, that go in after her are showing off slightly better clothes, but they don't make quite the same impression. Maybe she decided that just because she got the short end of the stick, it didn't mean she wouldn't shine brighter than everybody else, Alexander muses, and he has to stop himself because he's really close to becoming obsessed with a girl he hasn't even spoken to.

After the last model (a guy in an over the top getup that Mulligan and Laf tease mercilessly) finishes his walk, the lights finally dim and the presenter thanks everyone and not-so-subtly starts urging people to clear the space. The night is still young, so there's probably another event scheduled later in the same room.

"Well that was quite the underwhelming sendoff," Mulligan comments, standing up.

"I don't know," Angelica disagrees. "Personally, I was here to have a good laugh and that outfit delivered."

"Yo Mulls, you're connected, any chance you can get me the model's number? I'm sure he could use a pick-me-up after being photographed in that thing," Laurens jokes.

Lafayette rolls his eyes at him. "Would you really take advantage of... Oh, _de qui je me moque_ , of course you would."

"I'm sorry, have you seen the ass on that guy? Don't tell me you wouldn't tap that," Laurens insists, and it's nothing new, they're always joking around like that and Laurens holds the record on most frequent and inappropriate remarks on strangers, but that's exactly why it stings. It's like last night didn't change anything for him, and that's the last straw.

So when they're out in the street and the others start making plans for the evening (the Archive is off-limits because Angelica took the night off and she doesn't feel like going through the trouble of opening shop just for the bunch of them, no matter how much longer Lafayette keeps looking imploringly at her), Alexander steps closer and announces: "I'm heading home. Have fun." Just because he's the one who screwed up, it doesn't mean he's going to stand there like an idiot while the few people he cares about act like he doesn't exist. They can come to him when they've decided to be mature about it. Maybe he'll even apologize then.

The others would probably be less surprised if he'd decided to jump on the catwalk and start showing off his own rumpled clothing. "Seriously? Why?" Lafayette asks, and while it's good to finally have his presence acknowledged, it's too little too late.

"I just don't feel like my presence here is appreciated, is all," Alexander offers. He knows he sounds childish and needy, but he isn't the one who started this. 

"Not so good when it's us ignoring you, is it?" Angelica taunts him.

Okay, this is it. He tried to be the bigger guy, he tried to hang back and let them cool down in their own time, but this is too much. "Look, I'm sorry I got here late, and I'm sorry I missed Mulligan's big moment, but it's not like I..."

"Forget about the show," Mulligan interrupts him. "What were you thinking, texting Laurens you were about to get fired and then going MIA? Would it have killed you to pick up the phone?"

Wait. _That's_ why they're mad? Because he hasn't texted?

Alexander feels his anger melt. All this time he's believed his friends were being assholes, and it turns out they were just worried about him. If he thought he was sorry before, he's positively mortified now. "God. You're right, I'm sorry. I just had a lot going on at work, and my phone died at some point so I didn't even get your call."

"Call _s_ ," Mulligan stresses out. "Plural."

"And do you really expect us to believe you let your phone die?" Laurens asks. "You use that thing almost as much as your actual brain. I've never seen you leave home without a charger."

"Well, this morning I forgot," Alexander counters, fixing him with a stare that he hopes conveys how much he'd appreciate it if Laurens dropped this line of questioning. Because the reason Alexander was uncharacteristically forgetful this morning is that he was too busy replaying in his head their night together to worry about such trivial things as phone chargers, and it's in their best interest if the others don't find out about that.

Laurens must get the hint, because he gets a little flustered and changes the subject. "Whatever. So what happened at work? Did they really fire you or were you just being dramatic as usual?"

Alexander scoffs. "I'm not dramatic," he protests. "But no, I didn't get fired. I... got promoted, actually."

Angelica pushes his shoulder. "Get _out_."

"Way to steal my thunder, man," Mulligan complains, but he's beaming, and there's something that looks a lot like pride in his eyes.

"Well, okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration," Alexander amends. "But I finally got Dandridge to agree to have me work on a case. On my own. And I'm sure if I show her that I'm..."

"Wait. _Dandridge_?" Lafayette stops him, incredulous. "You got in her good graces? How'd you do that? I only got to talk to her for two minutes before she decided Washington had oversold me and I was a waste of her time."

"Aw, don't take it personally. She probably just sensed you were after her husband," Alexander teases.

Laurens and Mulligan snigger, predictably, but Lafayette is not amused. "Nice. Is this your way to show me gratitude after I put up with a vengeful Eliza for your sake yesterday?"

"That's right, what happened at the group?" Angelica inquires. "I have to decide if I'm still talking to you."

Alexander would really like to go back to the part where everyone was congratulating him. He might already be a cold-blooded corpse, but Angelica's accusing stare is making his blood chill in his veins all the same. "I... was mean to one of the members and left mid-session," Alexander confesses. "Was Eliza really that mad?"

Lafayette shrugs. "More like surprised, I guess. As was I. We didn't peg you as the bailing type."

"I didn't bail. I mean, I know I sorta did, but it was just because I realized I had somewhere else to be. I'm in for next week – you know, assuming anyone still wants me there." He stops himself before his words get even more incoherent and he slips and reveals why he absolutely had to leave when he did. Laurens would not appreciate it. So he sighs and asks: "I really need to apologize to her, don't I?"

"You better," Angelica threatens. Then her eyes light up with an idea, and Alexander knows he's screwed. "Actually, I know how you can make it up to her."

"I'm sure it's a great plan, but why don't we let Eliza decide that? After all, she's the one I wronged, not to mention that she isn't half as devious as..."

Angelica ignores him. "You free next Wednesday? Oh, who cares, you're going to be. I'm taking Eliza to see a show, and you're staying home with Philip and making sure he eats his greens and brushes his teeth and goes to bed at 10 sharp, okay?"

Alexander looks at her in relief. "Really? You just want me to babysit?"

"Hey, if you'd rather go around the city singing _Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word_ wearing only a..."

"No, uh-huh, I'm cool with babysitting. I love babysitting," Alexander says in a rush, and it happens to be true. "May I just ask why me, though? I thought Eliza could afford someone more qualified."

"Yeah, but Philip doesn't really do well with sitters. Last time Eliza hired one, she came home to find she had locked herself in the bathroom because he'd threatened to eat her brains. Meanwhile, Philip was quietly watching TV, way past his bedtime."

Alexander can't suppress a smirk. "I like that kid."

"You'll do it, then? For real?" Angelica asks. Her commanding certainty has gone, replaced by hesitant hope. It would be impossible to say no to her even if Alexander wanted to.

He nods. "Sure. I'd love to."

Angelica looks away, but not before Alexander can spot the grateful smile on her face. "Thanks. I've been trying to get her to have a night out for ages. She needs to relax a little, you know? Have some fun. Meet new people."

"Yeah," Alexander agrees, even though he doesn't know all that much about Eliza's personal life. He's always afraid to ask, because he feels like there was a lot of tragedy there and they aren't close enough for him to pry. He and Angelica are a different story. "Hey, what about you? Met any new people?" he asks, the look in his eyes making it perfectly clear he isn't referring to platonic pen pals.

"Are you asking me for hot lesbian jerk-off imagery?" she shoots back.

Before Alexander can protest that he didn't mean anything like that, he was just being a politely interested friend, Mulligan catches up with them and announces: "Okay losers, we've come to a decision. We're going to the Bubble to celebrate."

"Isn't it a gay club?" Angelica asks, tilting her head in surprise.

"Yeah, so? It's a nice place," Mulligan says, defensive. "Besides, Laf and Hams need to get laid way more than I do, so I'm just trying to increase their chances."

"Actually," Alexander interjects, "I think I'm heading home."

"No way. You really think you can get away with leaving us so early?"

"I'm sorry. I really have to work on the case, if I don't win it... Actually, I don't even want to think about what'll happen if I don't win it."

"I knew it," Mulligan grumbles. Then, turning to Lafayette and Laurens: "We've lost him, guys. This is how it's going to be like from now on. Our quartet's down to three and all that."

"Come on, cut him some slack. He's had a long day," Laurens comes to Alexander's defense. "I was thinking of heading back too, to be honest. I have some Uni stuff to take care of."

Mulligan's exasperation is starting to look less and less pretend. "Okay, what the hell is going on here?"

"Let them be," Lafayette steps in, throwing Laurens a quick look. "We can have a night out without them. Just the original squad, _oui_? You in, Angelica?"

"Of course. I didn't take the night off to turn in at 9 o'clock like a nerd," she says disdainfully. "I'm planning on making lots of mistakes tonight."

"See, that's the spirit!" Mulligan approves.

They all walk together for a few more minutes before splitting up, and then it's just Alexander and Laurens and the Manhattan traffic flooding the road. Alexander breathes in the night air and the smells of the city, suddenly hyper-aware of Laurens' presence beside him. He meant it when he told Mulligan he was leaving early to do some work, but he suspects Laurens has other plans and he knows it isn't going to take much convincing before Alexander goes along with them.

"Uni stuff, huh?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Laurens shrugs. "Would you rather I'd gone to a gay club? Danced with some guy, went home with him?"

Alexander knows he meant it as a reassurance, but it doesn't work. At all. So what, is Laurens going to hook up with someone else every time they go out? Is that what would have happened if Alexander hadn't turned down Mulligan's offer to join them tonight? Would he be looking at Laurens making out with a complete stranger right now?

Before he has a chance to voice his worries, however, Laurens is turning his head to kiss him, slow but intense, and Alexander feels his annoyance melt away in spite of himself.

He lets Laurens lead him into a back alley, their mouths never leaving each other for more than a couple of seconds. Lets Laurens push him with his back against the wall of some building, crowding him, his hands slipping below Alexander's shirt to stroke the tender skin of his hips.

"I missed you today," Laurens murmurs between kisses. "Been wanting to kiss you since the second I saw you at the show. Fuck, I almost did, everyone else be damned."

"I thought you were too focused on the models' asses to notice me," Alexander points out, and he absolutely meant it as a joke but he knows it doesn't come out quite that way. It's downright bitter, actually.

Laurens pulls back, a frown creasing his forehead. "Seriously? You're upset just 'cause I made a couple remarks about a hot guy?"

"I'm not upset," Alexander promptly denies. Then he amends: "Maybe a little. But it's not for the reason you think, it's... " He makes an annoyed noise in his throat, struggling to find the right thing to say. "Can I be honest?"

"Are you ever anything else?"

Touché. Alexander rewards him with a half-hearted smile. "I have no idea what we're doing here, and I'm kinda freaking out."

There's alarm in Laurens' eyes as he steps back. "What do you mean? Are you having second thoughts? 'cause I swear I..."

"No," Alexander rushes to reassure him, taking his hand to keep him from moving further away. "Not at all. Whatever this is, it's good. I want it." He gives Laurens' hand a squeeze for good measure. "What I'm saying is, maybe we need to have a serious talk before doing anything else. Make sure we both know where the other one stands."

Laurens nods, only marginally relieved. "Yeah, good plan." His hand slips away from Alexander's grip and he leans against the wall so that he's side by side with Alexander instead of facing him. They stay like that for a while – silent, hesitant, looking for the right words while silently hoping the other will talk first. In the end, it's Laurens who breaks the silence. "Last night was incredible. You were... you _are_ incredible, always."

Alexander rests his head against Laurens' shoulder and closes his eyes, bracing himself for the incoming blow. "But?"

"But I think it's better if we keep this casual," Laurens says slowly.

Here it goes. Alexander feels himself deflate. "Right," he mumbles, shifting away.

He didn't mean to sound so defeated, didn't mean for Laurens to realize how disappointed he is, but he does. "Hear me out," Laurens insists. "Laf and Mulligan, they still can't know about this. And it's going to be way easier to keep it a secret if we don't start holding hands in public or planning dates to the movies."

That's certainly true, but on the other hand, fuck Laf and Mulligan. Alexander knows they would get over it eventually, and so does Laurens, so that can't be it. "Is that the only reason?" he wants – needs – to know.

"No," Laurens admits softly. "You know how I feel about relationships."

"I don't, actually," Alexander points out. "I know you don't do them, or at least I think so, but we've never talked about it. I don't really know what to expect from you."

Laurens nods, a silent, _Fair enough_. "You're my best friend," he says after a while. "So you can expect me to be on your side, always. To spend as much time with you as we can and love every second of it. To help you bury a body if need be, no questions asked."

Alexander huffs, amused. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"You can." Laurens turns his head to kiss him, unhurried but deep, his tongue teasing Alexander's back to life. He moves on to Alexander's nose then, kisses just the tip of it before continuing: "You're also seriously fucking hot, so you can have as much of this as you want."

Alexander licks his lips, rips the band-aid off. "So what should I _not_ expect?"

Laurens shrugs. "You know, the other part. The exclusiveness, the plans for the future, all that boring shit. We're too young and hot to settle down, you know? We should take it easy, have fun."

Yeah, not really surprising. Alexander is a little disappointed, though, which is simply ridiculous. What did he expect? That he and Laurens would fall in love and it would solve all their problems? That's embarrassingly naive, all the more so for someone who grew up the way he did. After what happened to his mom, after all the fighting between his foster parents, he still hasn't learned a thing. He still wants to say, _I thought I was different_. As pathetic as it is, he really did delude himself into thinking that Laurens' feelings for him were about more than sex. That this thing between them meant more to him than his dozens of short-lived flings.

There's a strange light in his friend's eyes, though, guarded and a little shameful, and Alexander doesn't have the heart to start debating him on the way he does or should feel. "Okay," he accepts instead. "So you want to be friends with benefits, is that it? We just fool around, no strings attached?"

"If that's alright with you."

Oh, man. That is so not alright with Alexander. He's a planner, the kind of guy who needs to know that he's doing what he's doing for a reason – and he can find no rational reason to agree to this. What Laurens is suggesting is a suicidal pact, a leap in the dark that will only make things more complicated between them and is in no way going to end well. Alexander has feelings for him, there's no way around it, and Laurens' detached, carefree ways are guaranteed to drive him crazy.

What can he do, though? It's not like he can force his friend into a serious relationship, and he's too weak to give up the "with benefits" part of the deal. Especially since he knows that it wouldn't solve any problems. Not unless he decides to move out and cut all contacts with Laurens and Mulligan and Lafayette, which is simply unthinkable. So that leaves him with only one option.

"Of course it's alright."


	17. In which Alexander has a play date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for all the Nintendo talk. I miss my gamer days =']
> 
> Also, today happens to be the one-year anniversary of the day I started writing this, which means that a) I've only written around 20 chapters in 12 months HOW AM I THIS SLOW, and b) I'm feeling real emotional and grateful to you guys for sticking around – especially my regular commenters. Y'all know who you are ;] Love and kisses to everyone!

"I'm telling you, I did not cheat! I'm just really good at this game."

Alexander pretends to focus on his pasta, because he knows he's going to burst into laughter if he tries to look in the eye the kid sitting next to him. Philip's righteous indignation is just too cute, and his combination of passion and smugness kind of reminds Alexander of himself. In the best way possible.

"Nice try, but _really good_ doesn't cover it," he counters, wrapping spaghetti around his fork. "I mean, I might have believed it if you'd just beaten me, but beating me playing as _Yoshi_? That's what got you away, kiddo. You've overdone it."

"What's wrong with Yoshi?" Philip asks, and Alexander expected him to get defensive but more than anything he just sounds curious. Maybe they're not that alike after all. Where Alexander sees a challenge, the need to prove himself, Philip seems to see an opportunity to learn something. He's just as curious as Alexander was at his age, but with an added humbleness Alexander never quite possessed.

"Nothing, if you're looking for a cutesy character to bring to... to a fun picnic with the Princess of the Enchanted Forest or something. But this is war, man. If you want even the slightest chance of survival, you don't show up with colorful eggs and silly voices, you show up prepared."

"Like Fox?" Philip inquires.

"Exactly! Fox has guns, and shields, and he moves super-fast. He's a fighter," Alexander states matter-of-factly. "That's why I picked him."

"Yeah, and you still got your ass kicked," Philip gloats, which is kind of uncharacteristic of him but totally justified. Alexander would even let it slide if the kid didn't decide to add insult to the injury by throwing a victorious fist in the air and exclaiming, in a really accurate and therefore really _really_ annoying impression: " _Yoshi_!"

Alexander manages not to laugh. See, his self-restrain improves greatly when he's not drinking. "Language, young man," he says warningly, because there's no better way to win an argument with a well-mannered kid than pulling the Responsible Adult Who Knows Better card.

Predictably, Philip deflates. "Oh. Sorry," he promptly apologizes.

Less predictably, Alexander feels a little bad about it. The kid is way too dutiful to get shit about the rare times he slips and acts like a boy his age, and truth be told, Alexander was having way more fun arguing with him than trying to set him straight.

Oh, what the hell. He's always been a terrible role model anyway. "Besides, if anyone got their ass kicked, that was you," he taunts, smirking at Philip and getting an immediate reaction out of him.

"In your dreams!" the kid exclaims. Alexander's claim is so ridiculous that he doesn't even bother getting outraged – if anything, he sounds even more smug than before.

"Hey, I did defeat you in the Rainbow Road match, didn't I?" Alexander points out.

"Yes, because you didn't let me use any items or special moves!" Philip protests.

"That's how you're supposed to play if you really want to see who's best," Alexander argues. "We always played it like that in my house." Well, foster family #2's house, but he doubts Philip wants him to get into all that. Alexander certainly doesn't.

That's not what Philip focuses on, though. He looks at Alexander curiously and asks: "You played Smash Bros. before?"

"Sure. Back in the day, on a little-known relic from the past called a GameCube. When winning was about skills, not who was lucky enough to stumble upon a... how did you call those things? Smash Crap?"

"Smash _Ball_ ," Philip corrects him, not for the first time this evening. "It's really not that hard. How do you keep forgetting it?"

"Hell if I know. Guess I'm too old to learn the lingo."

"Come on, you're not that old!" Philip protests, sounding strangely amused by Alexander's affirmation.

"Yes I am. I don't look it, but I'm very very old and wise. That's why you should always do what I say."

"Get out!" Philip laughs, throwing an olive at him.

That's where Alexander draws the line, because he's never been comfortable with wasting food. Not to mention Eliza deserves better than to come home and find her living room has been turned into a battlefield for food wars. He's here to make amends, not to aggravate her even further.

"For example, playing with the food your mother spent so much time and effort making? Not cool," he admonishes, making sure he keeps the tone light.

"Actually, Mom and I play with food all the time," Philip reveals. "We trade away the stuff we don't like, and we always try to make pâté look like funny animals. And once Aunt Jel..." He stops all of a sudden, looks down at his food with a frown on his face.

"What did she do?" Alexander tries to get him to talk. The sudden mood swing is something he didn't expect. How does a kid shut off like that after two hours of playing and eating without a care in the world?

"Nothing. It's stupid," Philip dismisses the question, distractedly fiddling with his food. "She's stupid."

"Excuse you? Your aunt is cooler than all the people in this building put together," Alexander declares, maybe a little too quickly. But hey, Angelica is his friend. He's not letting anyone talk shit about her, not even her own nephew.

"You're only saying that because you don't know her."

Alexander rolls his eyes, still refusing to take Philip's words seriously. "Why, what has she done that's so terrible?"

"She... Mom told me something bad about her," the kid starts to open up.

If Alexander had trouble believing him before, now he's sure he's totally off his rocker. The only thing that sounds crazier than Eliza badmouthing someone is Eliza badmouthing Angelica. "What, that she eats little cheaters for breakfast?" Alexander teases.

"I'm not a cheater," Philip grumbles.

"Well, then you have nothing to worry about."

The kid doesn't look one bit more at ease, unfortunately. Looks like the time for joking around is over.

Alexander sighs. "Come on, what's this big bad thing your mother told you?"

"You can't tell anyone, okay?"

"Of course. I promise."

Philip looks at him for a long moment, the deep dark of his contacts trying to test the sincerity in Alexander's eyes. He must find it convincing enough, because he eventually spills: "She told me Aunt Jelly is a dyke."

The slur sounds so strange coming from the kid's mouth that Alexander actually finds himself at a loss for words.

He gets over it in a second. "I really don't see your mom using that word," he says with conviction. If he's honest, he didn't see Philip using it either, and it's almost scary how disappointed and hurt he's feeling because of it. It's always hard to find out someone you like has such crooked views on life and people and what they should be – all the more so when said someone is still just a kid.

Philip shrugs, his stare turning hard. He looks twice his age all of a sudden, a defiant teenager who thinks he knows better than anyone. "So? That's what she is."

"I believe the correct term is lesbian," Alexander corrects him.

"And you're okay with it?"

"First of all, it's really none of my business. Second of all, of course I am." He says it like it's the more natural thing in the world, because it is, and something shifts in Philip's countenance at the strength of his conviction. Alexander notices it and starts breathing a little easier. Maybe there's hope for the kid still. "Third of all, why aren't you?"

"Because... because it's not right," is all Philip can offer. Yeah, he's going to have to do better than that if he hopes to debate Alexander. "I mean, it's like if you went around kissing boys. Wouldn't that be weird?"

Alexander finds himself smiling in spite of it all. _Boy, you have no idea_. "Hey, if they're pretty boys..." he quips.

Philip doesn't find it as amusing. "This is a serious matter, Alexander," he reprimands him in a no-nonsense tone he must have picked up from Eliza.

"I know," Alexander sighs. He frowns, realizing something. "Who told you being gay is not right anyway? 'cause it sure as hell wasn't your mom."

"Nobody told me," Philip replies, defensive. "It's just common sense."

"It's not, actually. It's a bunch of crap."

"Well, Kevin says..."

"Now we're getting somewhere. Who's this Kevin?" Alexander wants to know.

Philip shrugs again, looking down at his mostly empty plate. "Just a kid at my school."

Of course. Nobody spreads ignorance and hate quite like a popular schoolmate. "And he has a problem with gay people?"

"It's not just him," Philip tells him. "Everyone in my class makes fun of Jamie Anderson, 'cause he doesn't have a girlfriend and he cries all the time so he must be a sissy."

"God." That's worse than Alexander expected. These kids are still in elementary school, for fuck's sake. Aren't they supposed to play tag and get along and save the viciousness born of self-hatred for when they're teens? "And you think _he's_ the one that's wrong? That he deserves to be made fun of?"

Philip thinks about it. "I mean... I guess sometimes I feel bad for him," he confesses in the end. "Like once, Kevin and Bruce locked him in the gym closet for two hours, and then made fun of him 'cause he'd peed his own pants. Or another time they tore up all the drawings he'd made for his dad's birthday, told him his parents are ashamed of him anyway. That was really mean."

That's the understatement of the century. "Wow. They're horrible."

"Sometimes," Philip admits reluctantly. "A little."

"No, a whole fucking lot," Alexander counters. He's had enough experience with bullies not to be shocked at their twisted little games anymore, but hearing Philip defend them is making him sick to his stomach. "And you listen to what they say?"

"Everybody does," Philip offers.

"That's no excuse."

Philip shrugs, looking away. "At least they're better than the kids at my old school," he finally says.

"Why, what did they do?" Alexander asks, even though he's not sure he wants to know. He's already having enough trouble dealing with the idea of 8-year-olds putting together anti-queer witch hunts to hear about even more disturbing realities.

Philip looks so small as he reveals: "They made fun of _me_ ," his voice breaking on the last syllable. Alexander's heart follows right after.

He's starting to reconsider his decision to have this argument with the kid. He knows how it feels to be an outcast, and Philip doesn't seem to have the pride that has always pushed Alexander to grit his teeth and overcome all the shit life has been throwing at him since forever. He's just a kid that wants to be left alone, and if Alexander can find it in himself to make nice with spineless hypocrites like Burr he should also be able to cut Philip some slack.

But Alexander cares about the kid, and that's precisely why he can't let it go.

"And why was that?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

"Because... because I'm sick. Because I got PDS, and they didn't," Philip reveals. "They called me a stiff and pushed me around. And, and they never let me play with them. Said I was just looking for an excuse to chase them and eat them."

Alexander makes a face. "I bet it was awful."

"It was. I hated going to school. Every morning when Mom woke me up I felt real sick, but I didn't want to tell her 'cause I knew she'd get worried and she was already so worried about Dad."

Alexander has a sudden urge to hunt down all of Philip's old classmates and teach them a lesson. How does one pick on a kid that's bright, fun and so friggin' kind and selfless?

At least he can bank on those qualities to make him understand. "I'm so sorry," Alexander says. He wishes he could have known him at the time, done something. "Don't you think your classmate Jamie must be feeling the same way now, though?"

Philip only thinks about it for a second. "You're right," he admits. "Poor Jamie. You think I should help him?"

There's a pinch of enthusiasm in his voice, but mostly there's fear, and Alexander bites his lip. That's what he would have done at Philip's age – he'd have stuck up for the underdog, gone after the bullies on his own. Become a target himself and spent the rest of his schooldays being abused and watching his back.

He sighs. "Listen, I'm not saying you should take on your whole school on your own. I know that's gotta be scary. But you do understand that what those kids are doing is all kinds of fucked up, don't you? If you don't want to fight them, you should at least stop listening to them."

"And what if they notice and get mad at me?" Philip asks, voice full of worry.

"Then you tell me, and I will personally kick all of their asses," Alexander promises.

Philip looks at him like he isn't sure how seriously he should take him. "Really? You would do that?"

"If they start picking on you? You bet."

Relief flashes in the kid's features and for a second everything's good. Unfortunately, it doesn't last long. "It's not like you can come to school with me, though," he points out.

"Yeah, but they won't dare do anything if they know you got someone looking out for you out in the real world," Alexander reassures him. "And honestly, I don't think you'd have any problems handling them even if I weren't around."

"But they're more and they're bigger than me!"

"So? You're smarter and more resourceful and you have something to prove. Sometimes that's all it takes to win," Alexander reminds him. Philip still doesn't look too convinced, so he adds: "That's why Yoshi's can defeat gun-toting military types, after all."

This time, the kid smiles. "So I've won, yeah?"

"Fair and square," Alexander finally admits. "I bow to you and your superior Smash skills."

He actually folds his hands and bows his head, and Philip laughs.

After that, dinner goes by quickly and smoothly. Philip tells him about his progress with the piano and that one crazy schoolteacher of his who gets mad if students so much as sneeze during his class, and then asks all sorts of questions about Alexander's job. It's quite impressive, if a little worrisome, how genuinely interested he seems to be in the fine art of twisting reality to spare the horrible people who are paying you from going to jail like they probably deserve. And he looks at Alexander like he's awesome for sticking his neck out for a PDS client, and Alexander thinks he's awesome for it.

It's only half past eight when they start gathering the dishes and cutlery and bring them to the kitchen sink.

"We still have a little time before your bed time, so... How about we wash these bad boys?" Alexander suggests.

Philip doesn't look too thrilled at the prospect. "But Mom usually does it," he points out.

"I know. But think how happy she's going to be when she comes home tired, wanting nothing else than just lie in bed and get some sleep, and she finds she can do exactly that 'cause we've already taken care of everything."

Philip considers it for a moment before nodding. "Okay, let's do that."

"That's the spirit," Alexander says, ruffling his hair.

They actually end up making an even bigger mess, because it's clear that Philip has never washed a dish in his life and Alexander teases him mercilessly about it. The kid tries to retaliate by splashing him with water from the sink, which is almost as bad an idea as Alexander's decision to play along. It's total war after that, and the biggest casualty is Eliza's poor kitchen.

So Alexander finds himself cleaning up all by himself as Philip retreats to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It's strange how natural, how normal the evening felt – he never stepped into Eliza and Philip's home before, never spent more than a few minutes with the kid, and here he is, mopping the floor and playing with Philip like he really is his little brother or something like that. He knew he'd have no trouble watching the kid for Eliza, but he didn't expect to get such a kick out of it.

He finishes up and goes to find Philip in his room, already wearing his pajamas and sitting on the bed. He's taken his contacts out and washed off his make-up, and for the first time Alexander notices the thin scar running all the way across his forehead, cutting his eye right in the middle and disappearing just below his ear. It gives him a rascally look that kinda suits him, but at the same time, it's hard not to think of the pain he must have suffered.

Alexander is struck by the sudden realization that he doesn't know how the kid died.

Then Philip looks at him, and he shakes himself. "Are you all set?" he asks.

"Yup."

"You sure? Did you brush your teeth?"

"'course I did."

"Even the back?" Alexander's tone is definitely starting to resemble an overbearing parent's, and it's only half intentional.

Philip rolls his eyes at him. "Yes. And the front, and I put my contacts in the salty liquid, and I did my affirmations."

Right, affirmations. Alexander hasn't done his since the treatment center – another thing he refused to carry with him outside of that place. He sees no point in reciting pointless mantras fed to him by the living, who'll never know what it was like to kill innocents and love every single moment of it. Eliza must think differently, though. She does seem like the kind of person who listens to doctors, and god knows how carefully they brainwashed her about the importance of standing in front of a mirror and repeating over and over, _It wasn't my fault_. As if anyone else really believed that.

"Good boy," Alexander approves. "Well, off you go, then. Time to get some shut-eye."

Philip looks at him expectantly. "You're not going to tell me a story?"

"Aren't you a little grown for stories?" Alexander asks, raising an eyebrow that's more than a little mocking.

"Actually, Mom and I are reading _Les Misérables_ together," Philip supplies smugly, and Alexander's sure he knows how impressive that is and mentioned it specifically for bragging purposes. Nice move, Schuyler. Nice move. "But maybe you can just tell me a story tonight. You must have a lot, Aunt Jelly always says you've had the most adventurous life."

"She does, huh?"

"Yes."

So someone's "tough and shitty" is someone else's "adventurous". Go figure. He can't really be mad at Angelica for embellishing the truth, though, not when he's the one constantly talking himself up. The only problem is that he's going to have some trouble finding a PG-rated, non-depressing, _and_ exciting tale from his past. Truth is, most of his life was quite boring. Hard doesn't automatically mean interesting – on the contrary, he's pretty sure he'd have made more memories as a rich do-nothing traveling the world because his parents could afford it than as a de facto orphan working his ass off to earn just a modicum of respect.

"How about I tell you a story my mom always told me instead?" he suggests instead.

"What story is it?" Philip inquires, curious.

"It's called, 'Juan Bobo and the pig'." His foster siblings loved it and they were around Philip's age, so he hopes the kid will enjoy it well enough. Even though it isn't exactly on Hugo's level. " _Bobo_ is Spanish for silly, because our Juan was a very silly boy. I just have to tell you that he once tried to carry water in a basket, and you'll have learned everything you need to know about his silliness."

"And what about the pig?"

Alexander smiles. "I'm getting to it. Juan Bobo lived with his mother in Puerto Rico. They weren't rich by any means, but Juan's mother was very hard-working so they always had food on the table, and could also afford to buy some pretty things here and there. One day she even brought home a pig."

"But pigs aren't pretty things!" Philip argues, amused.

"They're not," Alexander concedes. "They are worth quite a lot, though, and for Juan Bobo and his mom that pig was a little treasure. Juan's mom built it a little pen next to the house and made sure it was always happy and with a full belly."

Philip smiles. "She sounds really nice."

"Oh, she was," Alexander confirms. "And she was always very patient with Juan Bobo, even when he got himself into trouble – which, truth be told, happened quite a lot. On Sunday, she had to leave for Mass and told Juan Bobo to take care of the pig while she was gone. Juan Bobo agreed, of course, because even though he was a silly boy, he was very kind and wanted to help his mom. But only a few minutes after the mom left, the pig began to shriek and wail and Juan Bobo didn't know how to make him calm down. It was a real problem. And soon it became an even bigger problem, because the neighbors weren't happy about all the noise and came to Juan Bobo's house to complain."

"Did they knock on the walls?" Philip asks. "That's what the neighbors do at Dolly's house when we play too loud."

"They knocked on the walls, scolded Juan Bobo, even threatened to make them give the pig away," Alexander tells him.

Philip sighs with an air of superior resignation. "Some neighbors _really_ need to chill."

Alexander laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, they do." He clears his throat and carries on with the story. "Anyway. The neighbors did not chill, and Juan Bobo was starting to become desperate. And as it often happens, desperation gave him an idea..."

"He gave the pig some food?" Philip suggests. "That's what I would have done. Pigs are always hungry, and they can't cry with food in their mouths."

"That would have been the smart thing to do," Alexander admits, "but was Juan Bobo smart?"

"No. You said he was a silly boy."

"Exactly. And being a silly boy, he had a real silly idea. He didn't think that the pig might have been hungry; instead, he noticed that it had started crying right after Juan's mom had left for Mass. Could it be, then, that the pig was sad because it wanted to go to Mass with her?"

"Oh no," Philip giggles. "That's so silly."

Alexander is about to voice his agreement when Eliza appears in the doorway, hair pulled up in a bun and her slender hips clad in a long cobalt dress. She looks more beautiful than ever. "Hi, boys," she greets them. "How are we doing?"

"No, Mom, can you come back later?" Philip asks. "Alexander was telling me a story!"

Eliza looks between them, uncertain. "I don't know, Philip. It's getting late, I think Alexander would like to go home."

Alexander doesn't mind, at all, but he knows better than to contradict a mother in front of her kid. Especially considering that it's past said kid's bedtime. "Tell you what, I'll finish the story next time I'm here, okay?"

Philip pouts, but eventually relents. "Fine. But you have to promise you'll come back soon. Like, tomorrow?"

Alexander exchanges a quick glance with Eliza, and is relieved to find amusement in her eyes instead of exasperation or jealousy. "I don't know about tomorrow, but I _will_ see you soon."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I still have to beat you at Smash, right?"

Philip laughs. " _Right_ ," he echoes, sounding a little too sarcastic for Alexander's taste. What a cheeky little shit. "Goodnight, Alexander," he adds, sliding under the covers.

"Goodnight," Alexander says, and sees himself out of the room.

Eliza catches up with him in a matter of seconds. "Thank you so much for tonight," she tells him. "I really needed a night out, and Philip adores you."

"Don't mention it. He's a great kid, I think I had more fun than him tonight," Alexander confesses. He'd missed that thrill that only a kid's devotion can bring.

"That's certainly a first. Non-relatives tend to run away screaming the second I get back." She smiles, a little tiredly. "So, did Angelica tell you anything about compensation? Usually I pay 10$ an hour, but since you've been so good I was thinking I'd..."

"Oh, no, come on, I don't need any compensation!" Alexander protests. "Really. It was no trouble at all. Besides, I owed you big time for how I acted at your support group, so if anything we can call it even now."

"Oh my God, so it's true?" Eliza asks him, sounding equally mortified and appalled. "Did Angelica really guilt you into coming here tonight?"

"What? No," Alexander denies. "No, of course not. But I do feel bad about what happened there, and I don't like the idea of taking your money after disappointing you like that. Especially when tonight didn't feel like work at all."

"You didn't disappoint me," Eliza says, and her voice is soft but she still manages to convey how ridiculous Alexander's declaration sounds to her. "You have every right to be honest about what you think. And yes, you should probably have been more tactful, but I know the only reason you got so worked up is that you cared about those people."

 _Yeah, actually, I didn't really care about them. I only cared about being right_ , Alexander thinks, but doesn't say it out loud. Eliza's faith in him is moving, and comforting, and he can't bear to shatter it for some reason. "Thank you," he says instead. "Tell you what, why don't you buy me a drink at the Archive one of these days and we call it even?"

Eliza still looks hesitant, but she must realize it's the only compromise he's going to accept because she eventually agrees. "Okay. Thank you, Alexander. We're all so blessed to have you here." She blushes the second she gets the words out, embarrassed at how cheesy they might have sounded, and Alexander would feel a little bad for her if she didn't look so adorable.

He leaves Eliza's house with a big grin on his face, and he walks on air all the way to 3B. He's always been a slut for people's admiration and gratitude, and somehow it feels even better when they're coming from Eliza and Philip. Maybe it's because he likes and respects them both so much, maybe it's because they remind him of himself and his mom all those years ago, before she was taken away. Whatever the reason, Alexander really wants to live up to their high idea of him.

He's still smiling when he gets home – and the fact that he finds Laurens napping in his bed really contributes to his good mood. It's an unspoken accord between the two of them that the last to come home should not wake the other, unless he finds him sleeping in the wrong bed. That's their code for, _I don't know when you'll be back and I'm tired but I'd most definitely like to hang, so wake me up when you're here_. (Yep, they have codes and everything. Having a secret not-quite-relationship is the lamest awesome thing Alexander has ever done).

Alexander runs a combing hand through his hair, hoping the night breeze hasn't messed it up too much, and crouches to bring his face to the same level as Laurens'. His friend is sleeping on his stomach, arms and legs spread out and dangling from the bed, head turned to one side. Alexander could spend hours just watching him, counting the constellations of freckles on his face, lulled by the peaceful rhythm of his breathing.

On the other hand, Laurens is way more fun when he's awake.

"The _fuck_ you doing in my turf again?!" Alexander exclaims in his ear. As expected, Laurens wakes with a start. "That's it, you're going down, bitch."

"Hams, _shit_. You're a jackass," Laurens grumbles, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I liked you way better in my dream."

Alexander stands and leans closer to his friend, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You were dreaming of me?"

"Mm-hm," Laurens confirms distractedly. Then he looks at Alexander and amends: "Well, a nicer, more naked version of you. My favorite."

"Oh yeah? But can that version do this?" he asks, smug, before starting to kiss Laurens with such energy that his sleepy friend can't do anything but stumble back against the wall. Alexander takes advantage of it to get all up in Laurens' space, one hand buried in his messy dark curls, holding him in place, the other traveling down to tease his nipple through the soft cotton of his shirt.

He keeps at it until Laurens starts whimpering against his mouth, bucking his hips in search of friction. He seems more than willing to come like that, desperately grinding against Alexander, all his clothes still on, and the image is so hot that for a second Alexander considers granting his wish. Only for a second, though.

Laurens groans in frustration when Alexander takes a step back and goes to sit on the other bed. He blinks a few times before asking, his voice uncharacteristically low: "What's up, why'd you stop?"

"Hm, 'cause you were starting to get loud and the others are literally sitting in the next room?" Alexander reminds him. 

Laurens throws a quick glance at the door, torn. "So?" he eventually asks, following Alexander on his bed. He moves his hair away from his temple and start stroking with his thumb the soft skin there, only to move down to Alexander's neck a few seconds later.

Alexander would really like to close his eyes and relax until the faint perception becomes actual feeling, but he knows it's not a good idea. "So, you're the one who insisted we kept our... misdeeds to ourselves," he says, turning away. He hopes he doesn't sound as accusatory as he feels. "But if you've changed your mind I guess we..."

"No, you're right," Laurens admits, and he sighs, and he turns so that they're sitting side by side. He takes Alexander's hand in his and starts tracing stray patterns on his fingers. "This sucks. I feel like I'm seventeen again, trying to convince my parents that my friend Francis is totally just a friend while sneaking to the bathroom to blow him every chance I got."

"Except if we hooked up in the bathroom here Burr would get the whole show on camera," Alexander jokes. Laurens' expression tells him he has just given his friend new and potentially very dangerous information. "What, you didn't know he insisted administration put up surveillance?"

"I did not, but now we _must_ have sex in there. It would be a charitable act, really – the guy needs some excitement in his life."

Alexander makes a face. "Yeah, I don't know how I'd feel about having sex knowing that Burr is watching me."

Laurens shrugs. "Could be worse. Guy's kinda hot, if you don't take into account his whole personality."

Oh, this is almost too good to be true. "Seriously?" Alexander asks, unable to repress a grin.

"What?" Laurens asks, defensive.

"I see it now. Now it all makes perfect sense. That's why you can't commit to any relationship, isn't it? We're all just placeholders until your One True Love Burr comes to his senses and the two of you ride off into the sunset on a white horse."

"Shut up," Laurens laughs, smacking him on the arm. "Besides, I don't really see Burr on a horse. Too smelly and unpredictable. He's more of a private limo kind of guy."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Alexander concedes. "I mean, you're the one who's in love with him, so you must know better."

Laurens snorts. "Yeah, yeah, sure. So are we moving this party to the bathroom or what?"

Alexander shakes his head. "No way. I'm not going to let you use me to make Burr jealous," he teases.

"Forget about friggin' Burr." Laurens leans closer again, and he doesn't even try to be subtle this time, sticking his tongue in Alexander's ear and murmuring between the kissing and nibbling: "I want to fuck you, babe. Please?"

They've been hooking up for less than a week and already he has figured out that Alexander can't say no to begging. This kid is going to be his undoing.

Alexander takes a deep breath, doing his best to stay focused. Lucky for him, it's become a much easier effort since he came back to life without a pulse. "Me too, but I'm not doing it in front of a camera," he states decidedly, pushing Laurens away as gently as his horny friend will allow him. Alexander is starting to regret getting him so riled up before.

"There are no cameras in here," Laurens suggests, a last-ditch attempt at changing his mind, but he soon realizes that Alexander can't be swayed. "Okay, fine. Forget it." He sighs, frustrated. "I swear to god, you PDS guys might be the bomb once you get warmed up, but your low sex drive is a bitch to deal with."

"Ugh, that's awfully pulsist. Especially for someone with such a huge PDS kink," Alexander mocks him.

"It's not pulsist, it's the truth. It takes your nervous system a while before it can start..."

"Excuse me, are you PDS?" Alexander interrupts him. "Yeah, didn't think so. So shut your pretty mouth and let me be the judge of what is offensive to my people."

"That's a bogus argument and you know it," Laurens protests, but he does change the subject so he's probably not so sure himself. "And anyway, I don't have a PDS kink."

"Really? 'cause I couldn't help noticing that you tend to keep company with people who share, you know, a certain condition," Alexander whispers conspiratorially, doing his best impression of an elderly concerned citizen.

Laurens grins. "Lies and slander."

"Don't think so. I mean, just the ones I know about include me, and Laf, and Benny, plus that guy from the..."

"Okay okay okay, let me stop you right there," Laurens interrupts him. "If you must know, I slept with Lafayette because I have an accent kink, I'm sleeping with you because it's forbidden and secret and exciting, and I'm going to sleep with Mulligan so I can win a bet against Laf. Your being PDS is totally incidental."

"I thought you were sleeping with me because of my dreamy eyes and general hotness?" Alexander asks, only half-jokingly. He isn't too fond of the idea of Laurens being in it just for a quick thrill.

"Sure, that too," Laurens agrees, and he doesn't sound quite as serious as Alexander would like him to be. "Not that it matters, since you've decided to play hard to get tonight."

"I'm not playing hard to get, I'm being the voice of reason," Alexander sets things straight. He realizes what that entails and groans. "Shit, does it mean I'm the responsible one? That never happened before. See what you've done to me?"

He gives Laurens a playful shove, and his friend jumps on the chance to grab his arm and pull him in for another kiss. They're lucky he contents himself with that, because Alexander's senses are kicking in and he isn't sure he could have pushed Laurens away this time. He even chases his mouth for an instant before remembering he's not supposed to.

Laurens must realize something's up, but is sensible enough not to do anything about it. Instead, he says: "That's terrible. Fret not, though, for I have good news – there's always time to earn back some irresponsible points."

There's a dangerous gleam in his eyes, the one that seems to light up not only his face but his whole body, and Alexander couldn't say no to him if he tried. "What do you have in mind?"

After one last quick peck on Alexander's lips, Laurens slides off the bed and grabs his cellphone. He throws it on the bed before plopping back next to Alexander. "I've noticed you and Burr are not on speaking terms these days."

Understatement of the century. After Alexander convinced Martha Dandridge to drop the Shepherd case and help out the defendant instead, Shepherd turned to no one else than Burr. Well, Burr's firm, technically, but as the only PDS attorney working there Burr must have been deemed the best man for the job. And if his friendship with Alexander was already strained, it's turning into straight-up hostility now that they know they're going to face each other in court.

Alexander snorts. "So?"

"So, I was thinking maybe you might want to call him and talk. Except, you know, you'd be doing it anonymously," Laurens proposes.

"Are you suggesting I prank call him?" Alexander asks. He really doesn't like the prospect. "Didn't we agree that it was a terrible idea?"

Laurens scrunches up his face, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "That was ages ago."

"Yeah, and since then we've become tight friends so he'll just think, _Alexander, that funny old sport_ , and have a laugh about it," Alexander replies, sarcastic. "Oh no, wait. He's actually pissed at me, and he knows I'm a squatter here. I wonder what could possibly go wrong."

"He'll never know it's you," Laurens promises.

Alexander raises an eyebrow.

"Fine, maybe he will," Laurens concedes, reluctantly. "But I've called him a dozen times and I'm still here, so I'm pretty sure you have nothing to worry about."

Alexander is still not one bit convinced. "I have everything to worry about. You're his future husband, of course he won't do anything to you, but I'm his nemesis. He's just looking for an excuse to get rid of me."

"Okay, well, it wouldn't be worth any irresponsible points if there wasn't at least a little bit of risk, would it?" Laurens argues, giving him that mischievous smile Alexander can't resist.

Damn. Mulligan is right, he and Laurens are a terrible influence on each other – Alexander needs someone with their head on their shoulders, someone able to tell him when he's being crazy or reckless and maybe even to stop him when he won't listen to reason. He definitely doesn't need encouragement to act like a carefree idiot, and that's what he's getting from Laurens. Constantly.

So... maybe he should start dating someone like Burr. The idea is so ridiculous that it shatters whatever was left of Alexander's resolve.

He holds out his hand for Laurens to hand him the phone. "You'd better come bring me coffee every morning when this stunt gets me kicked out in the street," he threatens, because if Laurens is winning this, it doesn't mean Alexander will let him have the last word.

"We have a deal," Laurens accepts, grinning, and looking at Alexander with such adoration that Alexander forgets why he even hesitated in the first place. "You already decided what to say?"

"Yes, I think so. Oh, shit, you're already calling?" Alexander holds the phone more steadily to his ear and waits for Burr to answer, mentally going over what he's going to say to totally freak him out. He really really hopes he doesn't live to regret this.

The call is picked up after the fourth ring, but it's not Burr's voice at the other end of the line. It's a woman's. "Yes, hello?" she asks, weary but not quite sleepy yet.

Shit. Did Laurens dial the wrong number? "Um, excuse me, is this Aaron Burr's phone?" Alexander inquires. If Laurens made him bother a total stranger in the middle of the night, he's going to get properly scolded.

"It is, but I'm afraid he's not available right now," she replies. "Should I tell him you called or...?"

"No, it's okay. Sorry I bothered you," Alexander apologizes in a rush. He's too shocked at the idea of a woman spending the night at Burr's place to make small talk.

"Oh, don't worry, you didn't bother me at all," the woman reassures him. "Have a good night."

"Thanks, you too," Alexander says, and hangs up. He hands the phone back to Laurens, who looks as surprised as he feels. "Sorry, looks like Burr doesn't need us to give him a show after all."

His friend shakes his head, incredulous. "This is insane. He must be paying her, right?"

Alexander is about to remind him that he just made appreciative comments about Burr's looks like, ten minutes ago, so he is in no position to doubt the guy's desirability, but then he remembers something else. "You know, you think you're joking but you might actually be onto something. Remember Mulligan's exhibit?"

"The one you were only two hours late to? Yeah, I think I do."

"Burr was there," Alexander reveals, deciding to ignore the snarky observation. "With some seriously hot model that he obviously didn't want me too meet. I mean, I asked how they knew each other and he got all defensive and just said through work, and then he ditched me before I could even catch her name."

Laurens' eyes are shining. "Now that's what I call juicy intel. And it was what, five days ago? Why didn't you say anything before? I'm sure by now Mulls would be able to tell you even what her great-great-great-great grandma was up to during the Gold Rush."

Alexander shrugs. "I didn't think it was that important. Honestly, the less I have to think about Burr's sex life, the better."

"You do remember we're trying to destroy him, right? Every little detail is important. And this is monumental."

" _You and Mulls_ are trying to destroy him," Alexander clarifies. "I already told you I'm not joining in your stupid war games."

"Yeah, 'cause you're too afraid Burr will retaliate and get you kicked out," Laurens teases, putting an arm around Alexander's shoulders and pulling him closer. "I know, baby. No worries though, I'm going to take care of you."

Alexander bursts into laughter. "You, taking care of me? That's a good one."

"Someone has to, right?" Laurens argues, and he doesn't sound like he's making fun of him anymore. On the contrary, he almost sounds like he means it. Alexander knows he does, of course – they've had each other's backs since Laurens jumped to his rescue during that first fight at the Archive. Still, for some reason the notion of Laurens _taking care_ of him sounds more meaningful, more intimate, and Alexander's chest tightens with gratitude and something he can't quite name.

Instead of replying, he starts kissing Laurens – slow and soft, because he doesn't want him to get his hopes up, he just wants him to understand how much this thing they have means to Alexander. Laurens seems to get it. He doesn't try to deepen the kiss once, and his hands never stray lower than Alexander's neck and chest.

He's also the one who breaks the kiss, turning away from Alexander and closing his eyes. "You're a fucking tease," he complains, struggling to keep his breathing in check.

"Sorry," Alexander says, and he means it. He knows he isn't being fair to Laurens, getting him worked up without any intention to get him off. It's not like he's doing it on purpose, though – low sex drive or not, it's hard to keep his hands off his friend.

All of a sudden, Alexander decides that he's tired. He wants to be able to touch Laurens, and he wants to make him feel good instead of frustrated, and if that means that their roommates will find out about all the clandestine sex they've been having, well, so be it. "Look, if you want we can..."

He's interrupted by the door swinging open, and at this point they weren't doing anything more incriminating than sitting in each other's arms but they both jump back, almost as if they'd just been caught red-handed. Okay, so maybe Alexander isn't as chill as he thought about the possibility of Mulligan and Lafayette finding out. 

Fortunately for them, Mulligan is too busy storming in to pay much attention to their suspicious behavior. "So you _are_ back," he says to Alexander. "Knew I'd heard your voice."

No questioning and accusations, no complaining that they betrayed his trust and destroyed the 3B family forever. Alexander starts breathing a little easier. "What's up?" he wonders, because as much as they all love each other, they usually don't barge into each other's rooms in the middle of the night just to say hi.

Mulligan grabs the only chair in the room, spins it around, and sits on it, his long, strong arms propped on the back. "I got news. And I'm not sure how much you guys are going to like it." He isn't looking either of them in the eye, which is frighteningly uncharacteristic of him. He's not easily made uncomfortable, but this time he looks it. "Remember I promised to make sure Gal's charity was the real thing?"

Wait. That's the reason he's so upset? The stupid charity? "Yeah, what about it?" Alexander asks. "Are they actually big fat liars? Do they keep the money to pay for their classic cars and Jacuzzis?"

Mulligan purses his lips, shakes his head. "I wish. They... Actually, they have very good chances of being terrorists. ULA, no less."

Next to Alexander, Laurens sits up straighter, suddenly very interested. "You're shitting us, right?"

"ULA, really? How did you find out?" Alexander wants to know.

Mulligan shrugs. "I know people who know people."

"You're terrifying."

"No, wait, this makes no sense," Laurens protests. "Gal volunteered there. He told me about all the kids he was helping. How could he not notice?" Both Alexander and Mulligan hesitate to answer just long enough for him to put the pieces together himself. "No. No way."

"Laurens..." Alexander starts, not really sure of what he's going to say. All he knows is that he can't stand to see the horror in his friend's eyes.

"Gal wasn't a terrorist!"

"We don't know for sure," Mulligan tells him patiently. "But you have to admit it's a possibility."

"No it's not," Laurens insists. "Gal wouldn't even kill mosquitos, for fuck's sake. And he didn't give a shit about PDS rights, he was always going on about turning the other cheek and making amends for what he'd done as a rabid. There's no way he fell in with those extremists."

"Really?" Mulligan challenges him. "Because if I remember correctly, they found Blue Oblivion on him when he died. And you know only the ULA has real use for it."

"That was obviously planted! What's up with you all of a sudden?"

"I'm just trying to be objective," Mulligan defends himself. "I know it's a murky situation, but we have to look at all the possibilities. Yes, the drug could have been planted, but it also could have been there for a reason. Yes, Gal didn't like debating PDS rights, but that doesn't mean he didn't care – on the contrary, he could have bitten his tongue specifically to hide his radical positions. And yes, he paid his rent in advance, but that could have all been part of his cover. I mean, the guy worked at Bella Napoli, where was he even supposed to have gotten enough money to pay for a whole year?"

"He told me he'd been saving," Laurens offers, not sounding too convinced himself anymore.

Alexander takes his hand, willing so bad to comfort him. "How about we go take a look around the place?" he suggests. "Maybe it'll help us shed some light on the issue."

Laurens raises an eyebrow. "Or it'll get us all killed," he counters.

Strangely enough, Mulligan thinks about it rather than dismiss the idea on the spot. Eventually, he hazards: "No, I think I could do it. I mean, I'm PDS, why wouldn't they want to meet with me? The ULA is first and foremost a PDS rights group, after all. One run by religious fanatics with mass-murdering tendencies, but a rights group nonetheless." He scratches his head, his voice going lower with doubt. "The real problem is going to be getting in touch with them, 'cause the phone number on the website goes straight to voicemail."

"Really?" Alexander asks. It sounds a little sloppy for an international terrorist organization, giving out phone numbers that are obviously fake. Then again, Mulligan managed to expose them without being a spy or anything, so maybe they're just not as big a threat as they're made out to be by the press.

Mulligan nods. "Mm-hm. That was my first clue that there was something fishy going on with the place. Anyway," he says, turning to Laurens, "I was thinking maybe you could have something that can help us out? You did keep Gal's stuff, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't think you'll find anything useful in there. His phone disappeared right before he did."

Which is yet another suspicious piece of evidence against the guy – it's all too easy to imagine him destroying the phone to hide whatever dangerous information it held before going on a mission. Hell, maybe he even knew it would be a suicide mission.

Alexander is about to ask the others what they think when he realizes they must be coming to the same conclusion. Mulligan mutters a _Shit_ , looking away, and Laurens pales so much that Alexander is expecting him to throw up any second now. So he bites his tongue, not wanting to start a discussion that could only make his friend more upset.

The silence is making _him_ uncomfortable, though, so he hazards: "Can we take a look at his things anyway? Maybe we'll find..." And then he remembers. "Wait. Scratch that, I _know_ we'll find something." He jumps to his feet and opens Laurens' cabinet, too excited to even think about asking for permission.

"What are you..." Mulligan starts asking, but Alexander beats him to it.

"Here's your way to contact the ULA," he says, a little more smug than he intended, as he hands Mulligan the strange note he saw weeks ago, when he couldn't sleep after the disaster that was their protest. Bible quotes and the promise of a better tomorrow – that's trademark ULA propaganda. How could he not put the pieces together before?

"Shit, Hams, you're a genius!" Mulligan exclaims, as thrilled as Alexander about the discovery. "This is our way in."

"Is that really necessary?" Laurens pleads. "If you're right, if the ULA really is the reason Gal is dead, wouldn't it be a hell of a lot wiser to stay away from them?"

"I thought you wanted to know what happened to him," Alexander counters.

"I do," Laurens admits, and he looks way more defiant than defeated, "but strangely enough, I want you guys safe more."

Alexander's chest tightens. He's not really used to seeing Laurens worry, not with how little he seems to value his own life, but it looks like it's a different story when he and Mulligan are the ones putting themselves in harm's way. It's sad, and a little flattering. And it doesn't matter how justified those fears might or might not be, seeing Laurens like this is enough for Alexander to reconsider the whole thing. Besides, maybe it's better if they don't know.

Mulligan, though, seems to be on a different page. "Don't worry, we'll be careful," he promises. "Or well, I'll be. But trust me, jt'll be enough to keep this idiot here safe, too."

"That's... moderately reassuring," Laurens concedes. "You sure I can't come with you? I hate to be left out."

"I feel you, discrimination against the living is a real issue," Mulligan jokes. "But no way. Just showing up with you is guaranteed to blow our cover and get us killed."

Laurens looks like he wants to protest. Alexander can't blame him, really. He knows he'd feel the same way if he was the one being told to stay put and wait for news while his friends are risking their lives to investigate the mysterious death of his other friend. He also knows that Mulligan is right, though, and if Laurens really wants to help them, he's going to have to sit this one out.

Luckily, in the end his desire to keep them as safe as possible prevails. "Fine. You go off and die on your own, see if I care."

"You should care, actually," Mulligan reminds him, a malicious smile curling his lip. "The apartment's lease is in my name. They're definitely going to have a proper check and kick you out if I disappear."

"Wonderful. So you're leaving me without Hams and with no roof above my head. Why don't you just shoot me now and be done with it?" Laurens complains, and even though Alexander knows he's joking, he can't help being pleased at the mention of himself.

"Relax," he quips back. "No one is going to leave you. I know you wouldn't last a day on the streets."

As expected, Laurens' reaction to the jab is one of utter indignation. "Excuse you?! I'd be the _terror_ of the streets. Leader of my own gang and everything. It's going to be very West Side Story."

"Yeah, I don't give him more than twelve hours," Mulligan agrees with Alexander. He turns serious then, asks: "You sure you want to do this? 'cause I can check the place on my own."

Alexander shakes his head. "No, no way you're going in alone. You need someone to watch your back."

"I don't," Mulligan sets things straight, "but thank you for the offer." He runs a hand on his face, rubbing at his tired eyes. "That's decided, then. We're going to infiltrate the ULA."


	18. In which Alexander goes undercover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, the holidays have not been good on my writing.
> 
> Anyways. Happy New Year, everyone! Have some angst to celebrate ;]

In spite of Mulligan's best efforts, a couple of days go by before they can set up a meeting with whomever is in charge of the ULA branch (pardon, _charity_ ) Gal used to be in cahoots with. Alexander wouldn't mind the delay if it didn't bring two very inconvenient consequences with it: one, it gives Lafayette the time to find out about the plan and insist they bring him along, 'cause there's no way he's spending a whole day stressing out about them without being able to do or even know anything; and two, the more they wait, the more moody and upset Laurens seems to grow. He can't seem to focus on his studying for more than a few minutes at a time, leaves the house without telling anyone where he's going and comes back within a half hour like nothing happened, snaps at the others for the dumbest reasons and immediately rushes to apologize. Whether he's worried about Alexander's, Mulligan's and Lafayette's safety or about what they might find out about Gal, Alexander couldn't tell, but it's clear that things aren't okay. At all.

Bottom line, he's more relieved than nervous when Mulligan tells him he finally got in touch with the ULA and they can meet them that very afternoon. By this point he'd much rather face the fanatic terrorists than take one more day of brooding from his roommate.

They get an address to the place the Spring of Light initiative is rooming these days – a shabby old warehouse covered in dust and obscene graffiti off the 127th. It goes without saying that they're less than impressed by it.

"Well this looks cozy," Lafayette jokes.

"You sure you got the right address?" Alexander asks Mulligan, even though he should know better than to question his friend's intel.

Mulligan doesn't even dignify the question with a reply. He just shoots Alexander a threatening look and starts walking in the direction of the door.

"I'm just saying," Alexander tries to defend himself as he and Lafayette quicken their pace to catch up, "this dump hardly looks like the headquarters of an international terrorist organization. The worst criminal activity I see happening in here is some junkies squatting in the building – that is, if they aren't too afraid it'll collapse on their heads to set foot in it."

"It's the right place," Mulligan replies matter-of-factly. "Guess it's just one of many meeting spots. I doubt they'd invite perfect strangers to their HQ anyway."

"And the ULA is based somewhere in England," Lafayette interjects. "I'm surprised you didn't know."

As a matter of fact, Alexander didn't. "Really? But there's like twelve people there, how haven't they caught them already?"

Lafayette shrugs. " _Je n'en sais rien_. I stopped asking questions about the British after they decided segregating us would magically solve all of their problems."

"If you're done being a stereotypical Frenchman, maybe we can try and get in?" Mulligan suggests, growing impatient at their stalling. He probably meant it when he said he'd do a better job if they let him go alone, Alexander realizes.

Well, no chance. He can be smug all he wants, he _needs_ backup and Alexander and Lafayette aren't leaving him on his own in a hive of unpredictable fanatics.

They have to go through some sort of weird choreography to gain access to the place, doing a secret knock on the door and then taking four steps backwards, stomping their feet and knocking again. If Alexander didn't know better, he'd suspect the ULA member Mulligan spoke to on the phone didn't say anything about it and Mulligan came up with it on his own for the sole purpose of messing with them.

He knows Mulligan is not the type to make light of such a dangerous situation, though, and his faith in the guy is proved to be well-placed when the building's door buzzes open only a bunch of seconds later.

They step in, trying to act more confident than they feel, and immediately find themselves in a large room almost completely bare – all they can see is a couple of dusty office chairs and some old newspapers scattered all across the floor. It really is just an abandoned old warehouse.

Or at least that's what it looks like. Upon closer inspection, Alexander sees some sort of handle half-hidden by the stacks of papers. He's about to draw the others' attention to it when the handle turns, a hatch opens, and a mop of dark brown hair pops out.

Next to Alexander, Lafayette startles.

The hair is followed by a head, torso, and legs, and before they know it they're staring at a lanky guy in a red cardigan. Even with the grayish skin and contact-less eyes, he looks impossibly young – he must be around the same age as Alexander and Lafayette, but there's a boyish quality to him that makes Alexander feel like it's just a kid standing in front of them.

"Welcome," he greets them in a loud, even voice – the kind of voice theater actors have. Or people used to giving big public speeches. "My name is Samuel, and... you're Phocion's friends, is that right? We've been expecting you."

His high and mighty tone is already rubbing Alexander the wrong way. "Yeah, well, you did tell Mulligan here to come meet you today, so..." he points out, because there's no way he's letting anyone convince him that their coming to this place is all part of some bigger plan.

"Oh, no, I wasn't talking about that," Samuel clarifies. "Phocion and I were really close, and you were important to him. I figured it would be only a matter of time before we met." He smiles to himself at some private recollection. "I'd already heard about all of you from him. Hercules Mulligan, who used to be top of his fashion class but is getting sidelined now that he's undead. Lafayette, the exchange student that got stuck here for good." He fixes his stare on Alexander and frowns. "I don't think he ever mentioned you, though. Or maybe I'm mistaken? I could have sworn one of you was a... a living." Alexander doesn't miss the note of disgust in his voice as he says the word. He doesn't think he was supposed to miss it.

"He couldn't make it," Mulligan replies, dry. If he's unsettled by this stranger's apparent knowledge about all of them, he doesn't show it, holding his gaze and talking to him without letting any emotions show.

"Mm." Samuel seems pensive for a moment. He shakes himself almost immediately, a warm smile sweetening his features. "Well, I hope he can come up some other time. It would be a great pleasure to meet him – Phocion held him in such high esteem. As he did all of you, of course, but John was clearly his favourite. I would really like a chance to reminisce about our mutual friend with someone who knew him almost as well as I did."

_Almost_ being the operative word, Alexander wants to point out, but he knows Mulligan wouldn't appreciate him antagonizing their most likely source of information within two minutes of meeting him. Besides, there's something else he wants to ask. "I thought pulse-beaters weren't welcome around these parts?" he suggests, keeping his tone in check so it doesn't betray his stance on the matter.

Something changes in Samuel's smile, almost as if he were finally understanding that Alexander is not to be underestimated. "I'll be honest, we're a little suspicious of them as a general rule, but every friend of Phocion's is a friend of ours. No, they're more than that – they're family," he amends. Then he shakes his head. "But I'm forgetting myself. You're here to find acceptance, not to hear me ramble about fallen comrades like a pissed up old veteran. Would you mind following me? Watch your step, the ladder is a little wobbly," he adds as he starts lowering himself back down the hatch.

Alexander is the first to follow, Lafayette and Mulligan close behind. As much as he'd like to hang back for a second and share his first impression of the ULA guy with his friends, there's no way to do it without looking awfully suspicious, so he figures the best course of action is to go along with what Samuel says and show enough eagerness to sell Mulligan's lie that they're here to volunteer – in loving memory of Gal and all that.

That doesn't mean he isn't kind of fearing for his life as he sets his foot on the unstable old ladder that leads downstairs. He can hear an indistinct sound coming from there, the humming of enough voices to make noise even though they aren't loud enough for him to actually understand what they're saying, and he can't help wondering what kind of mess they got themselves into. Who are even those people? ULA agents? Wayward PDS sufferers that found a place to stay here? Volunteers honestly trying to help? All Alexander knows about them is that they're enough to take him, Mulligan and Laf in a fight without breaking a sweat, and it's not reassuring at all.

The moment his feet touch the ground he spins around, ready to face whatever threat may come his way. His surroundings are... not that threatening, actually. It appears he landed into some kind of basement that's serving as a dormitory – a corridor of bunk beds stretches before him, only a couple of them occupied.

"We don't use this room much – only at nighttime, really," Samuel explains before Alexander has a chance to ask. "It's a little too stuffy, and the lack of natural light depresses people. We tried to have a few lamps brought down, but they didn't really help."

"I can see perfectly as it is," Alexander points out.

Samuel gives him an indecipherable smile. He and Burr should definitely meet, Alexander thinks, half-amused, half-peeved. They'd become friends in an instant.

"Just because we can see in the dark, it doesn't mean we should become creatures of the dark," Samuel asserts, leading Alexander and his friends through the basement.

Alexander is so surprised by the statement that he forgets to argue with it. The ULA has always been a strong supporter of an us-against-them mentality, insisting that PDS people (the undead or _Redeemed_ , as they prefer to call themselves) are superior to the living in every way. Yet this guy is here, telling Alexander that he doesn't want to forget even the most common inconveniences of being alive. "So you don't think you're better off now than you were before dying?" Alexander wonders.

Something hardens in Samuel's countenance, and he doesn't answer for a while – as long as it takes them to cross the large dormitory and get to another ladder, a newer, somewhat sturdier one. Only then does he stop, mumble something along the lines of: "There isn't really much of a difference, is there? At the end of the day, it's still life", before starting to climb.

Alexander and Mulligan exchange a puzzled look, but Lafayette nods, almost as if he understood him. Not what he means – Alexander understood that as well –, but how he feels. Alexander is about to ask him about it when Lafayette walks past him to follow Samuel up the ladder. Mulligan is right behind him, and Alexander can't do anything but follow. They'll talk about all of this once they're out and they're safe, he decides.

The room they emerge in is definitely nicer than the dormitory, even though it's smaller and artificial light is still necessary so late in a winter afternoon. Still, it's big enough to host a couple of tables surrounded by chairs, a large sofa in front of a TV and even two little stations with laptops, and everywhere Alexander looks there's people – they must be thirty or so, of all kinds of ages and nationalities. Alexander hasn't seen such a mixed group of people in such a small space since the treatment center.

What strikes him the most about the sight, though, is how comfortable they all seem to be around each other. There's no trace of the obvious ghettoization that tends to develop more or less naturally when you put together so many different people. Black and white people are all gathered around the computers, laughing amongst themselves, the young and the old alike seem to be enjoying whatever reality show is playing on the TV, and no one is sitting alone. Even the ones reading at the tables are always in couples or even small groups of three and four.

It looks like some kind of social experiment that went well by some miracle, and it gives Alexander the creeps.

He feels more than justified in his uneasiness when everyone's heads turn to look at Samuel, and without him doing so much as nodding they all stop what they were doing and get to moving furniture around so that there's enough space for them to sit in a circle on the floor. This kind of unspoken harmony just can't be natural.

"You arrived just in time for our evening contemplation," Samuel does his best to explain the strange scene unfolding before them. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Lafayette says, charming as usual.

"Can we sit with the others?" Mulligan inquires.

Samuel gestures towards the circle. "Please," he invites, before sitting down in it himself.

Alexander and Lafayette find a place between a girl in pigtails and a middle-aged man.

"Is it true you knew Phocion?" she whispers at Alexander, all eager and wide-eyed.

"Uh, my friend did," Alexander tells her, nodding in Laf's direction. "I hear he was a pretty cool guy."

"Cool? He was amazing! But I mean, that's a given. The Undead Prophet only chooses the most special of people."

"I thought we were all special, having been redeemed from the earth and all," Alexander observes. Brushing up on his fanatic speech before coming to this place was a good idea, he decides. Between that and his alleged connection to Gal, he seems to already have some credit amongst these people even though they don't know him at all.

"Well of course," the girl agrees. "Some are just more special than others."

Alexander would really like to investigate what she meant by that, but unfortunately, Samuel chooses that moment to start speaking. "Good evening, everyone. I'm really glad to see you all here – with some new faces as well." His eyes are on Alexander and Laf as he says it but they don't linger on them, carrying on to pass over the whole circle instead. "My heart is heavy today, though. It weeps for all the Redeemed that still haven't found a place where they can be themselves, it weeps for the ones who aren't yet free and the ones who have fallen, but most of all it weeps for some of you, my brothers and sisters."

"How so?" a guy wonders. "We're good here. Better than we were before, at least. We're happy."

"I know you are, Travis, but that isn't the case for everyone. Some of us are stirring, arguing we're not doing enough. That we should take arms against the living. It's a feeling I completely understand," he makes clear. "Between what is happening across the ocean and the events of the King's College protest, we have every reason to be afraid. It's hard to see our kin treated so unjustly – beaten, murdered, spit upon. But what is violence going to accomplish at this moment?"

"I don't know," a young woman interjects. "We're not accomplishing anything much keeping our heads down either, though, are we? Maybe it's time to try something different."

Samuel fixes her with a stern expression, but his voice stays kind as he observes: "How is violence something different? Isn't it the obvious choice, the one road even the vilest of creatures always pick without much reflection? Aren't we better than that?"

"What else can we do, then? Because we _have_ to do something," someone else insists.

"Of course we do. We have to be strong, for one thing. And we have to have faith. And prayer can help us accomplish both these things."

Alexander exchanges a glance with Lafayette, and he instantly knows the same thought is going through both their minds. These guys aren't terrorists, they're God-fearing peace-mongers. Truth be told, Alexander isn't all that sure Laurens wouldn't rather Gal had been the former.

"We get so caught up in other groups' rhetoric that we forget what matters sometimes," Samuel is carrying on. "Every single one of us here got a second chance. You really believe God brought us back so that we could resume our lives like nothing happened? Why let us die in the first place, then? No, you heard what the Prophet said – we were all chosen. We're here for a reason. Don't you want to know what your real purpose is?"

A chorus of agreement raises from the circle.

"Let us stop worrying about the things of this world, then. I've reflected long about it, and I believe that's the reason God has hardened the hearts of the living against us. It's His way to warn us to stay away from them, to pay them no more attention than one would pay to rats or mosquitoes, because as much as they can inconvenience us, they can't bring us down. We have a higher purpose now. And it will only become clear if we focus on our hearts instead of the world, if we let God's light shine through us." He extends his hands, and everyone in the circle grabs the hands of the two people sitting next to them. Alexander hopes his squeeze on Lafayette doesn't betray his discomfort. "Let us look inside and pray, then. Pray that God enlightens us, not now but when the time is right, that we're ready to hear his call when the moment comes. Pray that we're ready to welcome him into our hearts."

Everyone around him starts humming, and Alexander would really like to leave now. He tries to focus on the positive – no way these people are dangerous. Things are going to be extra-weird for a little while longer, but then he and Laf and Mulligan will leave unharmed and never come back and he'll get to tell Laurens that his friend was a good person and things are going to be okay again. After all, he knew the people he was meeting were all fanatics, he should be over the moon about the fact that they aren't mass murdering ones.

The prayer ends what feels like three hours later, and after a final salute from Samuel everyone starts dispersing, going back to their previous activities or gathering in small groups to talk about the experience. Alexander and Lafayette have just caught up with Mulligan when the girl who was sitting next to them grabs them both by the hand and starts leading them to an empty little table in the corner of the room. "Come with me," she whispers, "there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Actually, we were just about to..." Alexander starts, but she won't have it.

"Please, it'll be quick. It's about Phocion," she insists.

"What about him?" Mulligan inquires as they take their seats around the table.

"I don't think the living murdered him," the girl reveals. "That's what we were told, but I don't think that's true. It was the Sons of Liberty."

Alexander frowns at the unfamiliar name. "The who?"

She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. "You wouldn't have heard of them, they're a very low-profile group. They condemn stirring up fights with the living, just as we do, but they have no qualms about hurting Redeemed who disagree with them."

"And you think that's what happened to Gal? To Phocion?" Lafayette asks.

The girls nods. "I don't really have proof – that's why I haven't said anything to Samuel. I don't want him thinking I spend more time obsessing about this than preparing for the Call. But Phocion, he was one of the Chosen ones. He was special. And he told me once to watch my back against the Sons of Liberty, because they could be even more dangerous than the living."

"What do you mean by that? Chosen one," Alexander says slowly. It sounds like something out of YA literature, not real life. "You said that before as well. Do some people actually get picked by your prophet? To do what?"

"I'm not sure exactly," the girl confesses. "But it's the greatest of honors. If the Sons of Liberty wanted to hurt us, a Chosen one would be the first person they'd target. They're not about to let a little thing like sacrilege stop them from doing what they like," she scoffs.

This could be a very important piece of information. It could also be the work of a hyperactive mind bored by the monotony of community life. Alexander couldn't really say – and either way, he isn't that sure it's relevant to their investigation. It doesn't make much of a difference whether the Blue Oblivion found on Gal was planted by cops or other PDS sufferers, the important thing is that he wasn't carrying it on purpose. Whatever the circumstances of his death, it seems clear by now that Gal wasn't setting to hurt anyone.

So Alexander feels like he's been punched in the stomach when they're out of the warehouse and heading home, and Mulligan asks with feigned casualty: "So. Who's going to tell Laurens Gal was definitely dirty?"

"What? What makes you say that?" Alexander asks. "Those guys were like, the opposite of everything the ULA stands for."

Lafayette clicks his tongue, unsure of what position to take. "I was thinking the same, but isn't it suspicious that they follow the Undead Prophet as well? Isn't he like the unofficial leader of the ULA?"

"I don't know. I saw a couple of his videos and they're pretty generic. You could argue that his way to promote PDS self-worth is more than a little resentful to the living, but that's hardly enough to call him a terrorist. Or even to say that he endorses terrorism."

"Oh, I agree," Mulligan interjects. "The guy is no fool, that's why no one has yet got a hold of him. Nothing incriminating to be found – not officially, at least."

"What do you mean, not officially?"

"You asked that girl what a Chosen one is," Mulligan says instead of replying. "Wanna know? It's the poor bastard that gets picked to shoot himself full of Blue Oblivion and go wild in some public place. The ULA's favorite weapon."

"How can you say that, not even that girl at the group was sure of what the expression meant!" Lafayette argues. He's clearly appalled at the prospect.

Again, Mulligan dodges the question, choosing instead to move on to another point. "And that guy's pacifist little speech? Worst attempt at a cover-up I've seen in a while."

Alexander scoffs. "What, you think that was just for our sakes?"

"Oh, no, of course not. He meant every word. He does believe the best course of action is staying put – for now."

"Because they're gearing up for something bigger?" Alexander hazards a guess. No, that doesn't feel right. Even if they were waiting for their chance, they should try to galvanize their troops with the promise of an overwhelming victory in a near future, not squash their will to fight. "No, wait. Because they're afraid," he realizes. "They don't know what happened with Gal, who was it that killed him, and they don't want to risk losing other people or compromising themselves for good."

"Exactly," Mulligan approves. "Whoever stopped Gal before he had a chance to strike must have gotten their intel from the inside, and they probably want to take care of that problem before organizing another attack. Hence the need to keep their people quiet and focused on other issues."

"Yes, of course!" Alexander exclaims, getting a little too excited about it. He remembers the other two were actually friends with the guy and does his best to contain his enthusiasm, but he really thinks he and Mulligan are onto something here. "And think about it, there was no reason for anyone to plant Blue Oblivion on Gal. He had no family to pester the police about looking into his death, and if it were indeed those Sons of Liberty that took him out, the last thing they would have wanted was to spread more panic about possible terrorist attacks. He really shouldn't have had it unless he was going to use it."

Mulligan nods. "Oh, if he was a Chosen, you can bet the drug was all his."

"These are all just conjectures, though," Lafayette reminds them. "I mean, yes, you guys could be completely right, but we can't say anything with any more certainty than we did before our visit to their... place."

"Trust me, it was enough. I'm sure now," Mulligan insists.

"But how?"

Mulligan shrugs. "If I told you, then I'd have to kill you," he jokes. Except he doesn't look one bit like he's joking. Alexander has said time and time again that his friend is a scary man, and for the first time he almost starts to believe it for real.

Then Lafayette laughs and shoves Mulligan, calling him a drama queen, and everything is good again for a moment.

Only for a moment, though. "What should we tell Laurens, then?" Alexander wonders. As much as he believes Mulligan to be right, he has to admit Lafayette has a point – what they have is still mostly speculation, and he really doesn't want to upset Laurens with it. Then again, lying to him seems even more despicable.

The others seem to agree. "He's going to find out sooner or later," Mulligan says. "It's not like you two can keep a secret. And he'll be less mad if we're honest with him."

"He's still going to be mad," Lafayette groans. "Hell, _I'm_ mad. I can't believe Gal lied to us like that."

"Well, what was he supposed to do, tell you he was picked for a kamikaze mission? I doubt you would have wished him good luck, let us know how it goes," Alexander points out.

"And remember, they're usually brainwashed good before they're sent to those missions," Mulligan joins him. "Knowing Gal, he probably didn't realize anything bad was going to happen before it was too late."

"I really wish that made it better," Lafayette says, voice strained, and they walk in silence for a long while after that.

As predicted, Laurens' reaction to the news is even worse. They meet him at the Archive and he's already had a few drinks by the time they get there – enough to get him loud and a little unhinged, but not so many that he won't listen carefully to their report. He seems skeptical at first, arguing that they can't possibly have discovered anything incriminating in the course of such a short visit, that they're jumping to conclusions. Alexander can hear the panic in his voice, though, can see the desperate light in his eyes. He believes them, alright, he just doesn't want to.

The arguing itself wouldn't even be that bad – after all, it's perfectly understandable that it might take him a while to process the news – if Laurens didn't keep drinking the whole time they're talking. Alexander is about to say something when Angelica beats him to it.

"Sorry kid, I think you've hit your limit for tonight," she turns Laurens down when he asks for yet another drink. "How about some water instead? Or maybe a coffee?"

"Ha ha ha," Laurens pretends to laugh. Then he sees Angelica's expression, and must understand she's completely serious. She isn't going to get him anymore alcohol for the time being. "Seriously? I'm not some stupid kid. I know my limits."

"Then you should know that now is a really good time to stop."

"Come on, Angie," he pleads, but to no avail.

Laurens' features harden, and Alexander realizes he'd better step in before things escalate. "What do you say I get you home, huh? "

"I can get home on my own, thank you," Laurens replies, voice harsher than Alexander has heard it in a pretty long while.

Still, by now he has enough experience with his friend's lows that he won't let something as trivial as this upset him. "Wonderful. Then you can walk me – I can't stay out tonight, I have work to do tomorrow."

"Work." Laurens grimaces. "Whatever. Let's go, I think I still have a bottle of Jameson at home."

That was not part of Alexander's plan. He wanted Laurens to go home so he could calm down and rest, not drink more. Still, his friend can barely stand on his own two feet so Alexander doubts he'll have much trouble keeping the bottle away from him. And at least the promise of alcohol is helping him get Laurens back to the apartment.

They slide off their stools, bid adieu to Angelica and the guys (well, Alexander does. Laurens is either too pissed off or too out of it to bother saying anything) and exit the club. Once more, Alexander is beyond grateful that the Archive is so close to their building – in spite of his vehement protesting the contrary, Laurens is in no shape to walk on his own and Alexander more or less has to carry him all the way home, with the added hindrance of Laurens not wanting his help and weakly trying to push him away.

To make things worse, they run into Burr on the stairs, and Laurens just has to start hassling him. "Aaron Burr in the flesh! What ya doing out so late? Don't you usually turn in at ten sharp like a good boy?"

Burr huffs a laughter and smiles, but not in an amused way. This is more like an 'I will kill you and all of your descendants except maybe one, so they'll live on to remind everyone not to cross me again' kind of smile. "As a matter of fact, I do," he recognizes, still smiling in that creepy way. "But I had something else to do tonight."

"You sure it wasn't some _one_ else?" Laurens can't help asking, because if sober he's a little shit with no real sense of self-preservation, he's positively suicidal when he's drunk. "So many ladies coming and going from Burr's apartment. Must be tiring to keep them all entertained."

Burr looks extremely uncomfortable, and for a second Alexander almost thinks it was worth it. Then Burr says: "I thought the silent agreement was that we left each other alone? Because you've been breaking it more and more lately, and it got me thinking – maybe you've decided honesty is the most honorable option here? Like being honest to administration about the fact that technically there's one vacant room in Mulligan and Lafayette's apartment? Or being honest to your roommates about your..."

"Okay, yeah, we get it," Alexander cuts him off. "I'm sorry. Really." He shoots Laurens a sideways glance, trying to convey to Burr how not okay he is right now. "You know he doesn't mean it."

Burr considers it for a few seconds before shrugging. "Fine. I'll let it slide this time," he finally concedes. "You'd better start remembering the agreement first thing tomorrow, though. Both of you."

And with that, he disappears up the staircase.

"I'll let it slide this time," Laurens mimics him, voice a little too deep, tone a little too snotty. "Asshole."

Alexander finds himself laughing in spite of himself. "Come on, let's get you inside before he changes his mind."

For once, Laurens follows him without putting up any resistance. He doesn't make a beeline for the whiskey either, his plan to keep drinking at home apparently forgotten. Unless he's more in control of himself than Alexander thought and is just waiting for a chance to grab the alcohol and give him the slip. Alexander looks at him, eyes glassy, heavily leaning against the counter, and decides the former is more likely. Besides, even if Laurens did manage to escape in some way he wouldn't go far in his state.

He locks the door behind him just in case (there's only two sets of keys to their apartment and Lafayette has the other, so Laurens is effectively locked in) and turns to his friend.

"Okay then, let's get you..." He trails off. Laurens is still perfectly quiet, but there's tear streaks on his cheeks. Alexander rushes to his side. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. It's alright."

"It's not," Laurens protests, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "It's not okay. Gal was a fucking fanatic and I... God, I'm so pathetic."

"You didn't know," Alexander reminds him. "And you're not pathetic. He was your friend, of course you're upset. Laf is too. And Mulligan, even though he's too proud to show it."

Laurens shakes his head. "But I'm not sad," he says slowly, as if he were realizing it himself just now. "I'm not sad, I'm fucking pissed off." He's laughing now, high-pitched and wrong. "I was sick with worry when he disappeared. And then, when they found–when they found his body... I cried for like, two days straight. Went to the police like eight times in three days, demanded they found out what happened to him. I even got arrested the last time, did you know? No, didn't think so, you'd just moved in, you had other stuff on your mind. Mulligan had to step in, convinced them to release me as long as I swore not to set foot in there again. That was fun. So much fun explaining it to my mother. And I..." His voice breaks on the syllable, but he carries on anyway: "I liked you so much and I was so happy you'd moved in and I hated myself for it. Because it wasn't fair to Gal, you know? I should have missed him more. Mourned him longer. I should have been a better friend to him. So I tortured myself over it, and it turns out, _he_ was the shitty friend. He'd been lying to me all along. God, he probably hated me, what with me being a living and everything. That's what they believe at the ULA, right? That all living are bad?"

Alexander holds him close to his side, and he has never even met Gal but right now he hates him more than he's ever hated anyone. He knows Gal doesn't deserve it – Mulligan was probably right, the ULA must have messed him up real good for him to accept to die and take as many innocents as he could with him. Alexander doesn't care. Laurens doesn't deserve to feel this way either, and he is, and it's all Gal's fault.

He could tell Laurens that Gal didn't hate him. That guy back at Spring of Light seemed to have a pretty high opinion of him, after all, and it was all based on what Gal had told him. Or that he's better off without Gal, and Alexander will never, ever hurt him the way that asshole did.

Instead, he asks: "What do you say we get up on the roof and burn all his old stuff?"

Laurens looks at him, that spark Alexander loves so much back in his eyes, and grins.

 

"So are you going to check if there's something we might want to save, or do you just want to destroy it all?" Mulligan asks.

Alexander looks at Laurens, who has sobered up a little thanks to the excitement and the cold air at the top of their building but is still leaning against him for support. Alexander suspects it's just an excuse to stay close to him. Not that he's complaining. "What do you say?"

Laurens shrugs and looks away. "Help yourself if you like. I just don't want any of that stuff in my... in our room anymore."

Alexander nods, turns back to Mulligan: "We're good, thanks."

Mulligan looks at Laurens sadly, but seems to respect his decision. "Laf?" he inquires.

Lafayette, who's been rummaging through the two boxes they brought up from the apartment, stands up and takes a step back. "Mm, I think I'm okay too. This is all personal stuff, really."

"Yeah, he probably donated most of his clothes and shit to his Spring of Light buddies before accepting the mission," Mulligan speculates. "This is just, documents and letters and random shit that only meant something to him."

Alexander recognizes the voodoo doll he found in Laurens' cabinet poking out of one of the boxes, and a drawing in a style that looks way too much like Laurens'. He hopes he didn't make a mistake in suggesting they destroyed Gal's stuff. That Laurens won't regret it.

For the time being, he looks hellbent on seeing this through. "Awesome. So are we doing this or what?" he asks, finally stepping away from Alexander and in the direction of the boxes. "Mulls, you got the booze?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, holding up a bottle. "This is how we finally get evicted, FYI."

"It was Hammie's idea," Laurens offers, and Alexander would be offended by such blatant backstabbing if it wasn't for the fondness in his voice. He doesn't sound like he's accusing Alexander of coming up with such a terrible idea, he sounds like he's giving him credit for it. Alexander has never liked anyone as much as he likes his batshit friend.

"Why, _why_ did you two have to meet," Mulligan complains. "As if you weren't irresponsible enough before."

"Hey, you're the one who offered to get the alcohol for us, aren't you?" Alexander points out.

"Yeah, because I knew what kind of trouble you would have gotten into if I'd left you to take care of it on your own."

"Please. Like we've never set shit on fire before," Laurens says, winking, and Alexander isn't that sure it's the best thing to brag about but he still does his best to look smug.

Mulligan shakes his head. "I give up. Here, help yourself, and please try not to set yourself on fire."

"I told you, I'm a professional," Laurens scoffs, taking the can from him and starting to pour booze all over Gal's stuff. When he's satisfied with his work, he dumps the now empty bottle to the ground and fishes a lighter from his pocket. He clicks on it but he doesn't drop it, looking pensively at the flickering of the small flame instead, and Alexander starts to suspect he's having second thoughts. "Anyone wants to say a few words? ... No? Alright, I'll go." He looks at the pile underneath him and his eyes harden. "Thanks for nothing, asshole. I kinda hope you were right all along and there _is_ a god, 'cause that would mean you're burning in hell right now," he says, and finally drops the lighter.

The pile catches fire in an instant, bright, lively flames consuming it with the hunger of a predator. Alexander looks at the scraps of paper folding in on themselves and turning black, at the little doll losing an arm, a leg, the head, more pitiful than creepy now that the fire's devouring it, and some sort of strange melancholy descends upon him. Gal's ghost has inhabited the apartment since the moment he moved in, and his stuff was the only thing Alexander knew him by. Watching it go up in flames, he can't help feeling like Gal's spirit is being cast out once and for all. Like this guy who's been dead since before Alexander even knew he existed is only really gone now.

He feels a little sorry for him.

Then Laurens steps closer to him, gratitude and fondness and something close to understanding lighting up his eyes, and Alexander forgets about everyone else.

"Thank you," Laurens says, and kisses him on the cheek, longer than a normal friend probably would – then again, he and Laurens have never acted like normal friends around each other, and Laurens is still drunk enough that Mulligan and Lafayette won't think much of it. That is, as long as Alexander gets a hold of himself and doesn't start kissing him for real like he so desperately wants to.

Lafayette must notice his struggle, because he laughs and pulls them apart. " _Ciel_ , you guys are disgusting. Are you sure we can't make an exception to the rule, Mulls? Maybe if you let them sleep together just once they'll get rid of the sexual tension and start acting like normal people."

Alexander exchanges a glance with Laurens and has to hold back a chuckle. _Oh, Laf, if you only knew._ "I'm all for trying, but I have to warn you – when people have a taste of _this_ , they usually come back wanting more," he jokes, pointing at himself with a smug little smile.

He knows his friends, knows that Mulligan will forget about him and Laurens if presented with the chance of mocking Alexander for his alleged dry spell. And that's exactly what happens. " _When_ being the important word here," Mulligan says. "Sadly, we all know that doesn't happen as often as you'd like us to believe."

Alexander plays along, sticking his tongue at him. "Fuck off. I have more important things to do than going around looking for desperate, lonely people to woo."

"Really?" Mulligan asks, throwing an eloquent glance to the fire that's dying down before their eyes.

Okay, so maybe he has a point. "I was talking about work, you jerk," Alexander tries to deflect. "I have a presentation for the Madden case in two days, and it's our best shot at winning the case. Dandridge has been emailing me non-stop. Washington hasn't written to me once, which is all you need to know that the end is nigh. And I'll have you know," he adds, feeling suddenly smug, "what we did right here was called being there for a friend. It's top priority to me and you should try it too sometime – maybe you could start by not making them feel like crap for choosing work over play?"

He finishes talking, and the others stare at him in silence, and that's when he realizes he's got carried away. A bunch. He just wanted to burn Mulligan, not start an actual fight with him, but he's ready to admit that his tone didn't really convey the sentiment.

He's bracing himself for the yelling to start when Laurens laughs. "Damn, man, you really do need to get laid," he jokes, and Mulligan snorts, amused.

Alexander should probably get pissed for real, but the remark was so unexpected and tactless and _Laurens_ that he can't help laughing along with them.

"You," Lafayette says with amused conviction, "are a bunch of freaks."

"And you're King of the Freaks for bringing us all together," Laurens counters.

Lafayette smiles. " _Pas de quoi_."

They stay in silence for a while, watching the last little flames become smaller and smaller until all that's left of Gal's things is two boxes with some ash in it.

" _Adieu, mon ami_ ," Lafayette mumbles.

" _Adieu_ , you Jesus-loving pain in the ass," Mulligan adds, but there's a fondness in his sad smile.

Laurens doesn't say anything. His harsh words from before were all the closure he needed.

As for Alexander... He doesn't really know what to say. The guy was a con, and a terrorist, and he broke his best friend's heart, yet as much as Alexander thought he hated him, he can't bring himself to be mad at him. However wrong his choices have been, they're the reason Alexander is standing on this roof tonight, three of the best people in the world standing by his side. How is he even supposed to feel about it?

_Thanks for helping me get here._


	19. In which Alexander kicks ass

The night of October 11th, 2014, Leonard Shepherd and his wife Aline were woken up by the sound of screams coming from their children's bedroom. Alarmed, they rushed to the room to find that a zombie had broken the ground floor window and somehow managed to climb inside, and was now hovering around the room, looking for a way to get to the terrified boy and girl hiding on the top bunk.

While a special task force was quick to come to the spot and drag the fiend away before either kid was injured, they'd be haunted by its empty eyes and vicious growling for a long time – especially the boy. Thirteen-year-old Graham Shepherd had always been a rather reserved kid, but it wasn't until after the incident that the adults in his life started worrying about him. He'd only answer when he was spoken to directly, and even then it was impossible to get more than monosyllables out of him. His parents would call him to dinner and it would take him forever to show up. His teachers noticed a significant drop in his focus and grades; one of them eventually suggested the kid started seeing a therapist.

It didn't help. Even with an expert talking to him, Graham was distant and unresponsive. More often than not he'd ignore the doctor's words altogether, staring into space or fiddling with his phone until his session was over.

Eventually, he fell in with a bad crowd. He started skipping school and coming home late, the smell of alcohol and smoke clinging to his clothes. His parents tried to reason with him; then, seeing as that still wasn't working, they tightened their grip on him – set dozens of rules, forbade him from seeing his friends, threatened him. This new, desperate strategy proved to be even more ineffective, and it wasn't long before Graham ran away from home.

He was found two days later, dead in a ditch. He had OD'd hours before and had been left there. It was the eve of his fifteenth birthday.

"I think it's in everyone's best interest to settle the matter here," Burr argues as soon as they're done reviewing the facts.

They're sitting in a conference room at Burr's firm – he and Alexander, their clients and the judge, a guy that looks incredibly young for his position.

It's his own client that baffles Alexander the most, though. Looking at him, with his sleek suit, expensive watch, receding hairline and really, _really_ out-of-season tan, Alexander can't help thinking how weird life is. Back at law school he never thought he would find himself on the same side as someone like him, yet here they are. Looks like it's true, death makes everyone equal – kings and peasants, soldiers that used to fight on opposite sides, even entitled white businessmen and orphans that had to fight tooth and nail for everything they got. It's a notion as old as humanity, yet they're the first that have to live through what it really means.

He shakes himself and focuses on what Burr is saying. "I'm sure Mr Bloom wants to avoid the bad publicity, and as for my clients, they just want to put this nightmare behind them as quickly as possible and mourn their son in peace."

 _Not before they make good money off his death, of course_ , Alexander thinks bitterly, but he knows better than to voice his feelings. "I agree," he says instead, "but the sum you're asking for is ridiculous."

As expected, his words are met with sheer horror from the opposition. "There's nothing funny about losing a child," Mrs. Shepherd scolds him through gritted teeth.

"And there's nothing honorable about putting a price on your heartbreak, and making an innocent man pay for it."

"Innocent?" Burr asks, and looks at him weird, almost as if he couldn't believe Alexander would really work that angle. "We have the police report for the night of the incident, and Mr. Bloom's admission papers at the treatment center. We have eye-witnesses. He is, without doubt, the rabid that broke into the house and attacked my clients' children, and he's responsible for what happened to Graham." He turns to Bloom, and there's a hint of satisfaction peeking through his cold composure. He thinks he's already won. "Isn't that right, Mr. Bloom?"

Alexander's client shoots a worried glance at him, at a loss. They're not under oath, this is as informal as it can get, so he could lie, technically. Or at least refuse to answer. What's the use, though? Burr is right, the evidence against him is incontestable. They're not going to win this by throwing smoke on the opposition's facts; their logic, though, they can argue with.

Alexander nods his permission to answer honestly.

"It is," Bloom admits. "I get flashbacks of that night, sometimes. I remember being there."

Burr smiles. "Thank you for your honesty. I think that settles it, doesn't it?" he asks the judge.

"Not so fast," Alexander interjects, as quick as he can. "Yes, my client did break into the Shepherds' house and tried to hurt Graham. But that doesn't make him responsible for his death."

"Why, because of his... condition?" Burr asks, and Alexander has been disappointed in him before, he's known him long enough to know he shouldn't expect bravery or loyalty or even self-acceptance from him, but the way Burr asks the question... Even with the contacts and make up he doesn't look like a living, not quite, but he sure as hell sounds like one, and for the first time since he's known him Alexander is utterly disgusted with him. "I'm willing to admit that it makes for attenuating circumstances. It still doesn't make him innocent, I'm afraid."

That's the big question, isn't it? Are PDS sufferers responsible for what they did in their untreated state? Alexander's answer would be a firm no, but he knows there's endless argumentations against his position on the matter. And yeah, he could probably destroy each and every one of them, but it would take time. They could spend hours debating the issue, and the judge could get fed up and make a rush decision, which is the last thing Alexander needs. 

Of course, he already knew all this. He came prepared.

"Forget about that," he says. "And all the issues with PDS sufferers, the rhetoric and the personal interests and the endless debates. I'm asking you to forget everything you think you know about my client and try to look at things objectively. And I'm asking you to listen to a story, if you will."

He's looking at the judge, worried that he might object they don't have time for such things, but for now he looks quite willing to let him talk.

Alexander isn't about to wait for him to change his mind. "It's the story of a kid – let's call him Marco – who was the apple of his parents' eyes. He was driven and bright, got good grades at school, helped with his three little siblings, the whole package."

"I'm sorry, what does this have to do with anything?" Burr asks. He doesn't look annoyed, just a little surprised at Alexander's apparent detour. He's trying to sound like the voice of reason, Alexander realizes. He must know it's his best hope to win – he can't compete with Alexander's unpredictable creativity, so he's trying to have him dismissed as a loud weirdo while simultaneously doing his best to appear conscientious and trustworthy.

Yeah, sorry Burr, that's not going to be good enough. "You'll understand in a second, I promise," Alexander shuts him down. He's not about to let Burr's lame strategy mess with his attack plan. "You see, things changed when Marco started high school. All of a sudden he looked like every second spent with his family was a burden to him. His grades were still passable, but his teachers complained about his attitude and lack of effort in all of his classes. And yes, you guessed it – he started hanging out with dubious people. Most notably a gang of low-profile juvies with a penchant for starting fights. He ended up getting stabbed, probably by mistake, and left to bleed out in an alley. This happened in 2007," Alexander says meaningfully, taking a beat to look in the eye each person in the room. Letting it sink in. Then: "2007. Years before the Rising. I think it's safe to assume that no zombie is to blame for this tragedy."

Burr's entire countenance betrays no emotion, so it's hard to guess whether he thinks Alexander has just sealed his own fate or he's afraid of a strategy he still can't quite figure out. "I'm sorry, I'm still struggling to understand why you've brought this up," he confesses. For once, he sounds genuine even to Alexander's suspicious ear.

"Me too," the judge seconds him. "Surely you aren't suggesting that this... episode is in any way connected to the case at hand."

"Oh, no, absolutely not," Alexander agrees. "But you have to admit that there are some striking similarities."

"What, just because another teenager lost motivation and got himself into trouble?" Burr asks, skeptical. "It's hardly striking, or relevant. It happens all the time."

Alexander feels a little smirk pulling at his lips. Not only is Burr failing at countering his argument, he just gave him the perfect opening to deliver the critical blow.

"Exactly," Alexander says, more smug than he intended. "It happens all the time, it always has, for thousands of different reasons. In most cases, it's a direct consequence of parent-child conflict, or of the pressure schools put on the students. As unpleasant as a nightly visit from a rabid can be, it's hard to believe that a single episode – scary as you will, but from which the kid and all his loved one escaped quickly enough and with no significant injures – might have had such lasting consequences. Blaming my client for Graham's tragic fate would be rush, unjust, and a huge leap to conclusions. Yes, the plaintiff presents a case that sounds believable, but he doesn't have the necessary evidence to support it."

He finishes all in one breath and turns to Burr. _Now_ he gets it, now he knows what Alexander's plan has been all along, and it's way too late to do anything about it. Seeing his opponent lose any hope of winning isn't as satisfactory as Alexander had anticipated, though – yes, there's the quickest flash of outrage and maybe even a hint of fear in his eyes, but they're both gone as soon as they appeared, and Burr's face goes back to being the expressionless mask of detachment that drives Alexander so crazy.

"If there's one thing this case has, it's evidence in favor of my client," Burr protests.

He's trying to buy himself some time, Alexander realizes. They both know providing evidence that Bloom was there isn't the same as proving that he's the reason the kid is dead, and the judge must know it too. Still, the question does give Burr a little time to try and come up with a solid counter-argument.

Or at least that's what he must be hoping. Some people just don't know when to stop.

"Really?" Alexander asks, arching an eyebrow. "I've seen your evidence, and it only goes so far. It doesn't prove that my client played any role in Graham's tragedy... Now, if Mr. Shepherd wants damages for his broken window, that's a whole other story and I'm sure we can agree on a price."

Mistake. His light comment is taken as a grave personal offense by Shepherd, who bursts out: "Broken window? My only son is gone, you... you _stiff_. Do you think I give a fuck about a window?"

"That's enough," the judge reproaches him. "Would you like to take a brief recess?"

"What I want is for the bastard that killed my boy to pay."

"An understandable sentiment," Alexander approves. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to look for your culprit elsewhere. I suggest you start by taking a good look inside – as I mentioned, a bad relationship with one or more of the caretakers is the most common cause of..."

"You rotten piece of..." Shepherd explodes, making to get up and jump him. Okay, so maybe that was a little harsh, even Alexander can see that. Doesn't mean he didn't mean every word.

He's saved by Aline Shepherd, who puts a hand on her husband's arm to stop him. He does – with effort, but he does. He must understand it's in their best interest to keep a clear head.

"How about Graham's therapist?" Burr suggests after an uncomfortable, albeit brief, silence. "Doctor... Lynn, right? Surely there's something in her records that proves Graham wasn't just acting out. That he was suffering from PTSD, and anxiety and depression as a consequence of it."

That was a good move, and it might even have saved him in other circumstances. Alexander did his homework though, so he knows he has nothing to worry about. "I already called her. She invoked doctor-patient confidentiality and refused to disclose any information on Graham, even after I explained the situation to her. When I tried suggesting she at least got in touch with the kid's parents, she very clearly informed me that it was the last thing her patient would have wanted and hung up moments afterwards."

He can see the life die in his opponents' eyes. Well, the Shepherds' at least – Burr just sags imperceptibly against his seat, and that's as desperate and defeated as Alexander has ever seen him. The Shepherds, though, looks positively distraught. It mustn't be easy to know that your dead kid didn't trust you as far as he could throw you.

"I think we have everything we need," the judge breaks the silence. "Mr. Hamilton makes a good case. There's no evidence of a correlation between Mr. Bloom's actions and the Shepherds' tragedy, so I must find in favor of the defendant."

"Yes!" Alexander goes, and if it earns him nasty looks from pretty much everyone in the room, he's too proud of himself to care. He did it, he won his first case, and he proved that he was right in taking it. That representing PDS people isn't always a lost cause.

He also proved that he's better than Burr, but he's too mature to gloat about it. He can at least wait until he's celebrating at the Archive with his friends, far away from the disconsolate opposition.

Or he would have, if Burr hadn't approached him himself after everyone else has left the room. "Congratulations," he tells him. "I guess you're really a lawyer now, huh?"

"I've been really a lawyer for years," Alexander corrects him. "I just wasn't practicing yet. But thanks, I guess."

"Oh, no, I wasn't talking about that," Burr clarifies. "I know you've been a lawyer for a while, at least on paper. But you know, there's this saying that you're not really one of us until you acquire a taste for blood."

"I've had that for a while, too. You know, what with the whole zombie thing and all," Alexander jokes.

Burr doesn't laugh. He rarely does. "That's not what I meant."

"I know." Alexander looks away for a second, braces himself. He thought he was done arguing with Burr for today, but it looks like he was wrong. "So what, I'll say and do anything to win? Is that what you're saying? 'cause that's rich, coming from the guy who has no qualms about betraying his own people."

"Who, an old white dude making thousands of dollars an hour? That's supposed to be my people?"

"Yes! Because he couldn't be more different from you and I, yet he's facing the same kind of discrimination. You know nobody else wanted to represent him?"

Burr shrugs. "Maybe he didn't deserve to be represented."

Alexander can't believe his own ears. "Everyone deserves to be represented! It's like, one of the stepping stones of our Constitution. It's the reason you and I do what we do."

"Is it? I thought we were doing it for the money. And the status and yes, the thrill of the kill. It's not like we're running a charity, is it?"

"Of course you would think that way," Alexander scoffs.

Burr raises an eyebrow. "You went into battle against a grieving family for your own gain, yet somehow you seem to think I'm the one who sold his soul." He closes his briefcase with a loud _click_. "I'm just sayin'. Maybe it's time you got off your high horse. The world isn't as black and white as you believe."

And with these last words of stale wisdom, he walks out.

 

Washington pops the champagne carefully, trying not to send the cork flying across the office. Spoilsport. Alexander is holding his own bottle – Dandridge was thoughtful enough to buy PDS-friendly champagne specifically for him – and he wants nothing more than to make a show out of opening it, but he eventually decides to follow Washington's lead. As happy as they are with him right now, he and Dandridge are still his bosses. He needs to keep in their good graces – today more than ever.

"To an improbable victory," Dandridge toasts.

"And to the guy that made it possible," Washington adds, raising his glass in Alexander's direction.

Alexander gives him a little nod, grateful. Washington has always given him credit when it was due, but it means so much more now that Alexander is finally doing what he was always meant to.

"Thank you," he says. Then, turning to Dandridge: "And thank _you_ for trusting me. I know it was a risky bet for you."

She smiles at him, uncharacteristically warm. "It was, but I figured if you could convince me to take the case, you'd have no trouble convincing the judge that we were in the right." She takes a sip of her drink, adds: "Besides, how disheartening would it be if I couldn't even trust our best lawyer?"

Alexander preens at the compliment – even though it would probably mean more if his colleagues were deserving of their title. "I've been meaning to ask you about it," he confesses, and it's almost difficult to get the words out. He's more nervous here than he was arguing against Burr before, he realizes with a certain degree of incredulity. "Am I officially on the team now? 'cause I know McCormack is leaving around the end of the month, so I thought I could..."

"Hamilton," Washington sighs with exaggerated gravitas. "Your work on this case was spectacular. Truly. I always knew you were brilliant, and I'm thrilled you finally got a chance to prove it."

The discordance between Washington's adoring words and his aggravated tone is jarring, and Alexander doesn't like it one bit. "Am I right in sensing a _but_ coming?" he asks.

His boss purses his lips before confessing: "I'm afraid so. McCormack has yet to resign officially, and when we last talked he seemed more inclined to stay here than to try and strike out on his own. You shouldn't take this as a punishment, though – you're more than valued where you are now, and your work there is as indispensable as it would be in court."

There go Alexander's hopes, down the drain once again. By now he should know better than to try and talk some sense into Washington, but he can't help it. Just because he has no chance it doesn't mean he'll keep his head down and let the powers that be make the same mistake over and over again.

"Sir, if I may..." he starts, and that's about all he manages to get out before Martha Dandridge begins to talk all over him.

Alexander would be way more upset by the interruption if he didn't like what she's saying so much. "I disagree," she challenges her husband. She isn't speaking in the businesslike, unquestionable tone reserved for her subordinates; rather, she sounds like she _wants_ Washington to engage, to try and put her position into question. Which could either allow them to talk it out and reach a mutual agreement or turn into a fight Alexander would much rather not witness.

"How so?" Washington wants to know.

"We've been over this. Hamilton is too qualified to be your personal paper-pusher. You know it, I know it, he knows it. He's smart, he's driven, he's hard-working, he even got a better score than you in his bar exam – and he just won us the most important case we've ever taken on. He could be our top lawyer, so why you insist on keeping him chained to a desk escapes me."

Well. That's all stuff Alexander has told Washington about a million times (minus the bar score thing, because Lafayette insisted that it would be petty and tackless and made him swore never to mention it), and it never helped his case before. Coming from his partner, though, the speech seems to be having a different weight.

"You're right," Washington admits, looking away. "It's all true. But I... I'm just not comfortable sending him out on the field."

"What do you mean?" Alexander asks, his voice swelling with outrage. He's afraid he knows where the conversation is going. Looks like he was always right about Washington being a coward. "It's because I'm PDS, isn't it? Is that why you don't want me to represent the firm?"

"Of course not!" Washington denies, a little too quickly. He sets his glass on the desk behind him and leans against it with a sigh. "Or well, yes. In part. You should know – I'm not ashamed of having a partially deceased lawyer in our staff, nor do I think your condition is going to prevent you from doing your job better than anyone else. Quite the contrary, actually. But I _am_ worried about you, and yes, it is because you're a PDS sufferer."

"Worried? Why would you be worried about me, I think I've proved..."

"Is this because of the threats?" Dandridge asks, and puts a hand on her husband's arm, almost tender. "We decided to ignore them, remember? We can't let some anonymous coward boss us around like that."

"I know," Washington starts saying. "It's not..."

Alexander is too shocked to remember his place, and he ends up cutting off his boss. "Wait. Did someone threaten you? What happened?"

Washington exchanges a quick glance with his wife. "Remember the protest?" he eventually asks. "How I was late because some vandals destroyed my car? I thought it would end there, but it didn't."

"Shit. I'm sorry," Alexander says, and he means it. It sucks that someone as professional and balanced as Washington is being targeted. After all, he's a living who never did anything more scandalous than accepting to give a speech in favor of the PDS cause. If that's enough to earn him never-ending harassment, what's going to happen to actually outspoken people?

That being said, Alexander still doesn't see why _he_ should be punished for it.

"And Lafayette told me what happened to Angelica," Washington carries on. "How she thought the police would find whomever destroyed her bar, but they still have to come through. It's a delicate situation. These people are everywhere, and they're unstoppable."

"So you're just going to let them win?" Alexander asks, well-aware of the disgust in his own voice and not even caring. Yes, the situation is far from ideal, but who is Washington to complain? He didn't have to hide his face behind layers and layers of make-up just to appear in front of a judge this morning. He doesn't face daily abuse, from the casual loser with a tasteless _Zombie Survival Guide_ shirt to the drunken bravado of jackasses following him home just to yell injuries and threats at him. He doesn't have to fear for his life, because if someone were to hurt him the police would be all over the case. He doesn't have a boss who refuses to let him do this work just because he's afraid of some pulsist punks. Really, who the fuck is Washington to complain?

"I'm not," Washington denies with vehemence. If Alexander didn't know better, he'd say he's offended. "I've actually decided to take a more resolute stand in my next book, and I'm pushing to have all kinds of discussion about PDS issues reintroduced at King's College. I've abandoned every pretense of neutrality on the subject."

"Exactly," Dandridge confirms. "So why are you so afraid to hire a PDS lawyer in the firm?"

"Look at what happened to us, Martha!" Washington finally explodes. He doesn't sound angry, just frustrated about the whole situation and really, really tired. "Look what happened to Angelica Schuyler. And for what? For suggesting that PDS sufferers aren't the monsters some people want to believe they are? But that's nothing. We didn't do anything to really upset the public. Imagine a PDS lawyer taking the stand, though. Maybe even to defend PDS people, like today. Imagine him making a name for himself. Do you think they would let him live it down? Because I don't. Not at all. And attacking a living, that's still a crime, but let's be honest, nobody is going to look too closely into the death of a PDS sufferer, no matter how savage..."

"Wait a second," Alexander interrupts him, not quite believing what he's hearing. "Are you telling me the reason you don't won't to hire me... is that you want to protect _me_?"

"That's right," Washington admits. "I know you feel like you're wasting your potential, but I'm actually trying to protect your future. Times aren't mature for you to be in the public eye like that. It's better if you wait – I'm sure in a few years things will be different, and you will finally be able to make the career you deserve."

Alexander appreciates the sentiment, he really does, but on the other hand, fuck the guy. "I don't care. I'm not afraid. And I'm sure as hell not going to lay low now, when my people need me the most." He looks from Washington to Dandridge, and he realizes he's not nervous to claim what he deserves anymore. He hasn't been in a while. "I appreciate you trying to look out for me, really, but hanging back and letting others make the big decisions, that's never been me. I want to be a part of this. You're right, the world is changing, but _how_ it changes, that's up to us. We have battles to fight that will define my people's future forever, and I want – I need – to be a part of it."

"Hamilton..." Washington starts speaking, gravely, but Dandridge interrupts him.

"George. I think the kid can decide for himself." She waits for her partner to nod his acceptance before promising: "I'll tell McCormack not to expect his contract to be renewed. Hamilton – starting next month, you're going to be one of our associates."


	20. In which Alexander is late

Alexander's phone won't stop buzzing. It went flying across the floor a while ago, together with most of his clothes, and Alexander can't be bothered to look for it right now.

"You sure you don't want to... _ah_... answer it?" Laurens asks. "Could be important."

Alexander huffs against his shoulder. "Please. It's just going to be Laf asking me where the hell we are _again_." He props himself up with both his arms so that he can look Laurens in the eye. "Besides, nothing is more important than this."

Laurens laughs, but the way his eyes stray from Alexander's face to look away betrays his discomfort. Right. Alexander needs to learn to bite his tongue, keep for himself whatever feelings he has for his roommate that don't fall strictly in the _Friendship_ and _Lust_ categories.

"Come on, it's just sex."

"It's not _just_ sex," Alexander argues, and he can see the panic in Laurens' eyes. Time to put him out of his misery. "It's sex with Laf and Mulligan out of the house. You should cherish it for the rare blessing it is."

This time, Laurens' amusement is genuine. "You're right. I can't believe I almost ruined it." He holds Alexander's head with his right hand, strokes his neck the way that always makes Alexander whimper softly before trying to pull him down with him. "Get back here."

Alexander doesn't need any more convincing.

He lets Laurens guide him all the way down to his mouth, kisses him again and again. He can't imagine ever getting tired of his friend's lips – the way they taste, the way they eagerly open up and wrap around his to share their warmth with him. The way Laurens' eyes grow dark and hazy as they keep kissing. The way he moans his name when Alexander lets his hand wander down and starts stroking him, the closer thing he'll ever get to an _I love you_ from him.

"Oh fuck yes. _Fuck_. Alexander..." he cries, grinding into his hand. He only calls him by his first name when they're alone, and Alexander has spent more time than it's probably healthy trying to find a meaning to it.

"So what's it going to be?" Alexander asks in a whisper against his lover's ear. "Do you want to come like this, or do you want to fuck me?"

"Mm. Babe, if you want me to fuck you you need to... stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Alexander asks innocently, but there’s nothing innocent in the flick of his wrist. 

Laurens groans. "Man, I'm serious, I'm not going to last."

Alexander thinks about it, his hand still moving slowly against Laurens' hard cock. "It's okay. We don't have time for that anyway – I'm sure you can find a way to pay me back later."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Relax, I got you," Alexander promises, picking up the pace once more.

That's when the buzzing starts again. It's closer this time, the noise coming from some point right next to the bed. Laurens' phone must have been luckier than Alexander's.

"Maybe we _should_ pick up," Laurens suggests again, and Alexander has had enough.

"Fine, whatever. Suit yourself," he says as he grabs Laurens' phone, answers the call (Laf's – no surprise there) and throws it at his unappreciative friend.

Laurens, predictably, is caught completely off-guard. "The fu– Heyy, Laf, hey. No, yes, I know. You're right, you're totally right. I'm sorry. It's just that I, uh... _oh fuck_ ," his rambling ends in a breathy whimper.

Alexander looks up from between Laurens' legs to give him the evilest of smirks, and gets a kick for his effort. Which, okay, he probably deserved. Still, Laurens doesn't get to drag him to bed ten minutes before they're supposed to meet the others and then be distracted all the time 'cause he's feeling guilty. You made a decision to be a horny shithead, fucking commit to it.

"Of course I'm not!" Laurens denies, voice a little too high-pitched for Lafayette to believe him. He throws daggers at Alexander when he starts mouthing his way up his chest, but he doesn't seem to have the strength to push him away this time. "Why would you... mmm... Okay fine, fine. You're right, I'm in a guy's bed right now. Yes, I know I'm a terrible person." He tilts his head back, giving Alexander full access to his neck.

"You're a beautiful person,” Alexander murmurs in his ear, the one with no cellphone pressed against it, and Laurens gives him a weak smile.

"Hams? Why, isn't he with ya?" Laurens feigns innocence. "Oh. No, I have no idea. Wouldn't worry if I were you, though, he probably got caught up in work crap again and lost track of time."

Jerk. Alexander bites his earlobe a little harder, and Laurens groans.

Instead of pushing Alexander away, though, he sits up, eyes wide with worry. “No, don't go home," he says in a rush. For once, Alexander shares his panic – it won't take Laf more than a couple minutes to get to the apartment from the Archive, and if he finds the both of them here, they're screwed. "You stay there and help Mulligan and Philip, they're already short-handed as it is. I'm almost done here anyway, I'll go check on Hams and we'll catch up with you guys together, okay?" A beat. "Awesome. See you soon – and sorry again!"

Alexander starts breathing a little easier – well, figuratively speaking. "That was close."

"The fuck were ya thinking, tryin' to blow me with Laf on the other end?" Laurens scolds him.

As much as Alexander would enjoy bickering with him for the next hour, the others are going to kill them if they don't show up soon. It’s probably in everyone’s best interest if he gets this over with quickly. “You ever noticed that you sometimes go back to your natural accent when you're really turned on?"

"Shut up."

"'cause I have, and I think it's really really hot," Alexander says, leaning in to kiss him.

Laurens needs more, though. It's only a handful of seconds before he starts grinding up against Alexander's crotch, desperately looking for release. "God, Alexander, you have no idea what you do to me.”

"It's alright, I'm here."

He takes hold of Laurens again, runs his hand up and down his length, lets him buck into it until he's coming, wet and eager and messy. He cries out Alexander's name as he does, and Alexander lets him bury his head in his shoulder, holding him close and breathing him in. He's struck by the sudden thought that he'd do anything for the brilliant, broken guy in his arms, fight anyone, follow him anywhere, and goddammit, why can't he even give Laurens a hand job without his stupid feelings starting to act up?

"Your turn?" Laurens asks, disentangling himself from Alexander's arms to place a kiss on his lips.

Tempting as it is, Alexander finds himself shaking his head. "The others are waiting. Let's not push our luck, okay?"

 

They're late, they're _so_ late, and it wouldn't be that big a problem if it were any other day, but today is Angelica's birthday and they have so much to do.

Alexander was the one to come up with the idea – convince her to close the bar for one day (which was harder than anticipated, because apparently she doesn't think she can afford to take a single day off) and have Eliza and Peggy keep her busy while the others set everything up for her surprise party. It was going to be awesome, with balloons and banners and cake and singing. All the cheesy stuff that was _guaranteed_ to drive Angelica crazy with embarrassment. And everything was going according to plan until Laurens got it into his head that they absolutely had to take advantage of the empty apartment.

As it is, they arrive at the Archive almost twenty minutes after the party began, which means Angelica is already there and Mulligan and Lafayette are going to be rightfully pissed.

"Alexander!" she greets him, pulling him into a hug. "I hear I have you to thank for this ambush."

Well. She doesn't seem upset, and she can totally use her birthday girl authority to get the others to be lenient with Alexander. Laurens too, even though this is mostly his fault.

"Happy birthday, my dear," Alexander says. "And no thanks necessary. I couldn't pass up this opportunity to remind my favorite girl how much we all love her, now could I?"

He meets her eyes when he pulls back and sees the mirth in them. "Please. I know this is just as good an excuse as any to come here and drink."

"Like we need an excuse to do that," Alexander reminds her, winking, and he takes a step back to allow Laurens to wish Angelica a happy birthday as well.

Unfortunately, that sends him right into Lafayette and Mulligan's clutches. "Way to bail, dude," Mulligan accuses him from behind the counter. He's bartending for Angelica tonight, and Alexander can't do anything but sit at the bar with Laf and let the two of them roast him. "Would it have killed you to pick up the phone?"

"I'm sorry, I had it on vibrate and I didn't hear it," Alexander offers. The first part it true, at least.

"Mm. Working on a difficult case?" Lafayette wants to know, and if Alexander didn't know better he'd think he's trying to catch him in a lie.

"Sleeping, actually," he lies easily. "Thought I'd lie down for ten minutes, get some rest after work, and next thing I knew Laurens was barging in telling me we needed to get out like, three hours ago."

His friends buy the story. Even worse, they seem to get worried about him, which makes Alexander feel like a terrible person. He and Laurens must have a serious conversation, decide what to do about the situation, because all this secrecy isn't doing anyone any favors.

"You're working too much, _mon cher_."

"Seriously. Slow down, man, you don't have to become a Senator overnight." Mulligan sets a beer in front of him. "You're going to have to pay for this, by the way. Angelica can't afford to give us any more freebies."

It's not like Alexander minds, it's only fair and he's not broke anymore, but coupled with how much convincing it took to get Angelica to close the bar even for just a day it's enough to make him suspicious. "She can't _afford_ it? Is there something wrong?"

"Guys, I told you not to spread rumors!" Angelica reproaches them, taking the empty seat next to Alexander. "There's nothing wrong. The bar is fine."

They don't believe it for a second.

"We're friends, Angelica," Alexander reminds her. "You can talk to us."

"Look, it's fine, you have nothing to worry about," she tries to dismiss his concern one last time. "The bar... it's not exactly turning much of a profit these days, but it's not as bad as it sounds. It's just, you know, things are different now that this is pretty much a PDS bar. I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but PDS-friendly food and drinks are expensive. Which means if I sell them as the same price as the living stuff, I'm making very very little money."

"Shit. I hadn't thought of that," Mulligan admits.

"Not your job." Angelica shrugs. "Plus, I've just had some unplanned expenses this month."

"Like replacing all the stuff those vandals destroyed?" Laurens asks. "Wasn't the police supposed to take care of them, by the way?”

She groans, pours herself a beer. "It was. They did."

"And...?"

"And they weren't the lowlives the cops thought, they were like, the mayor's nephews, something like that, so they declared that boys will be boys and let them off with a warning."

"You're kidding, right?" Alexander is appalled. "And you didn't press charges?"

"Why, to waste more money and time just to have a judge tell me the same thing?" she asks, peeved. "No thanks."

Alexander has never seen Angelica so defeated. It's a terrible look on her. "You could win the case, you know. You're in the right, after all, and I could represent you, we could..."

That's when Eliza walks in, and Angelica puts an end to the discussion with an urgent _shush_. "Anyone of you chatterboxes breathes a word of this to her, you're going to have to look for glass in your drinks for the rest of your lives," she hisses, and while Alexander is pretty sure she doesn't mean it, her tone is assertive enough that he decides he doesn't need to put that to the test.

"You made it!" Eliza exclaims, hugging Alexander and Laurens in turn. There's no trace of reproach in her voice – she seems genuinely happy to see them even after they bailed on her.

Mulligan is another story. "Barely," he growls. He isn't angry either, not really, but it looks like he isn't as ready to put their wrongdoings behind him just yet.

"I hope nothing bad happened to you two," Eliza says.

"Oh, no, don't worry," Alexander reassures her. "I fell asleep, and Laurens was... busy," he concludes, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Right," she says, and laughs, at the same time as Laurens complains: "Hey, you should be kissin' my ass, man. If I hadn't come wake you up you'd still be lying in your bed all oblivious and shit."

"Wait, that's the reason you were late to my party? You were getting laid? You jerk." Angelica punches him in the shoulder, and Laurens groans. "I'm officially offended. And jealous, but that's another story."

"You do know this is our fault, right?" Lafayette asks Mulligan. "We gave him the wrong Trial. We thought his biggest problem was his being a rich living, when actually he's a sex addict."

"Well how was I supposed to know, I wasn't the one sleeping with him at the time!"

"See, that's what you get for being pulsists," Laurens taunts them, sticking his tongue at them. To their very eloquent stare, he adds: "What? It applies both ways."

Mulligan snorts. " _Please_."

"And you should check your definition of sex addict," Laurens keeps going. "I mean seriously, when was the last time you saw me leave with a guy?"

"That's true, you’ve hardly even hit on anyone lately." Lafayette gives him a knowing smile. "I was thinking you would change your mind tonight, though."

"And why is that?"

"Purple Laf is here," Mulligan reveals.

Something lights up in Laurens' eyes, though it's clear that he's trying not to get his hopes up. "What? For real?"

"Who's Purple Laf?" Alexander wants to know. He isn't sure he likes the turn the conversation has taken.

"It's a guy who comes here from time to time. Looks a little like our Lafayette, except he's a living, and he always wears the same extra-tacky purple jacket," Angelica explains. "Hence the nickname."

"We don't know his real name. Nobody does,” Laurens adds. Seriously, he looks way too excited about the guy. "Man. I thought he was gone for good."

Angelica makes a noise of agreement. "Me too, I haven't seen him in forever."

Alexander doesn't get it. "And you're all so pumped to see him because...?"

"Wait 'til you see him, he's a real character," Lafayette promises. "Plus, Laurens has a big dumb crush on him."

"I do not!" Laurens protests. "I just bet y'all that he was gay."

"No, you bet us that you were going to sleep with the guy. Because of course that's the only way to find out if anyone's gay. I mean, simply asking him would be too much effort."

"And nobody ever even said he's not gay, you made this whole thing up all by yourself," Mulligan adds. "Seriously, you're like a live incarnation of that _I can't believe you guys are making me do this_ meme.”

Laurens opens his mouth to reply, closes it, and shrugs. "Whatever. It's not like I need to..."

"Uh, guys?" Eliza interrupts him. "I think he's here."

They all turn to where she's looking and sure enough there he is, strolling in from the restroom like he owns the place. He's shorter than Lafayette (though still taller than Alexander, alas), less fit and probably a few years older, but he does bear a certain resemblance to him, face-wise – if they were both still alive, they could most likely pass as brothers, if not exactly twins. The purple coat is as ridiculous as it is unnecessary inside the bar, but it sort of contributes to his striking persona. It's a guy that makes it difficult to look away from him, Alexander will give him that.

He takes a seat at the bar, a little apart from where Alexander and the gang are, and Mulligan rushes to take his order. The others, predictably enough, can't keep their chill to save their lives.

"What are you waiting for, go talk to him!" Angelica exclaims a little too loud, gently but relentlessly pushing Laurens in the direction of the guy.

" _Carpe diem_ , Johnny boy," Lafayette echoes. "This is your chance."

Laurens meets Alexander's eyes for just a split second before downing what's left of his drink and standing up. "Alright, I'm going in. Wish me luck!"

"Like you need it," Angelica shoots back, and they watch him walk to the other end of the counter, take the seat next to Purple Laf's and start chatting him up. The guy seems quite pleased by the interruption.

Lafayette shakes his head fondly. “They grow up so fast.”

"So... how long you think it's going to be before they leave this place?" Angelica asks. "And follow-up question: do you think the guy has any weird, embarrassing kinks?"

“ _Mais bien sûr_. Just look at him, that guy has never had normal sex in his life."

"Mm. What do you think, Alexander?" Angelica turns to him.

"I think I'm going to finish my beer at one of the tables," Alexander decides. "One where I don't have to partake in all this nonsense."

He stands up, and to his surprise Eliza does the same. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Alexander smiles at her. Drinking alone was preferable to gossiping about Laurens' penchant for engaging in casual sex with every weirdo he comes across, but that doesn't mean he was looking forward to it. Chatting with Eliza, though, that's something he can enjoy.

"Mind it? I'm honored," he replies. He makes a broad gesture in the general direction of the room, making sure to include all the rows of empty tables in front of them. "Looks like we're spoilt for choice tonight. Where shall we sit?"

They leave the bar to a chorus of "prudes" and "spoilsports" from Lafayette and Angelica. They don't dignify them with a reply, but Eliza rolls her eyes at Alexander and he laughs.

She picks a table in the far corner, the one where Alexander sat with Burr what feels like ages ago and that conveniently makes it hard to see most of the counter – including the spot where Laurens is currently getting all over a random dude. Alexander wonder if the choice was completely random. He suspects the girl is more perceptive than people give her credit for.

"This is much better," she declares, sitting down. "Thank you for letting me tag along, I'm not in the mood for... all that," she concludes, and makes a vague yet eloquent gesture in the direction of the bar.

"Don't mention it, I should thank you for the company." Alexander runs a distracted finger on the rim of his glass. "I swear I love those people, but sometimes it feels like all they ever talk about is sex."

"I know," Eliza sighs. "Although I wish I could be more like them sometimes. More... relaxed about the whole thing."

"Oh. Oh, sorry, are you... uncomfortable with sex talk?” Alexander hazards. He's seen her get flustered easily, but he never thought that was the reason behind it. After all, Laurens is always blushing too and well, he's _Laurens_.

Eliza shakes her head. "Oh no, not at all. But well, look at Laurens for instance. He got here late because he was off sleeping with a guy somewhere, and ten minutes after he arrived he was already hitting on someone else. Meanwhile, here I am, feeling guilty about wanting to go on dates even though it’s been years since my husband died. Twice."

She takes a swig from her glass, hides behind it as long as she can. Maybe she feels like she has talked too much, revealed too much. She's never spoken so candidly to him before – even though Alexander is pretty sure she's never lied to him, she usually doesn't go talking about herself unless she's asked. Well, except for that one time at her support group, but that's a whole other story. It doesn’t really count as opening up if she’s only doing it because she thinks her personal experience can be of help to someone else.

What she's doing here is different. She's asking for sympathy, maybe even for advice, and she's asking for her own sake.

"Trust me, you don't want to be like Laurens," Alexander says. "What he does, it's so not healthy."

"No, I know. I'm not saying I want that. I'm hardly the type to have casual sex anyway. But, you know... The opposite isn't a lot of fun either."

"I bet." Alexander takes one more sip of his drink before setting it aside, all his focus on Eliza. "Okay, you want to know what I think?"

“Please,” she says, making an encouraging gesture with her hand.

Alexander leans a little closer to her. "I think you shouldn't force it. No point going on dates if you don't feel ready, or even going out with the specific purpose of picking up strangers. If I understand correctly, it's not your style – and that's cool, by the way.”

Eliza frowns. “I know that.”

“But,” Alexander carries on. “I don't think you should give up on finding someone either. You’re way too young and pretty for that. Just... go out, have fun, be open to what the night can send your way. It's the greatest city in the world, you're bound to cross paths with someone sooner or later."

She doesn't say anything in response, just smiles at him.

"What?"

"You really do have a way with words."

It's Alexander's turn to smile, pleased. "Thank you. Does it mean you'll follow my advice?"

"I'll try," she promises. "As much as I can. I can't ask Peggy to babysit Philip every night just so I can go out and party."

"Why not, that's the best reason to call in favors," Alexander jokes. Then he adds, serious this time: "And if it gets to be too much for her, you know I'm always glad to spend time with the little rascal."

"Careful, Alexander, I might start thinking you actually mean it," Eliza quips.

"I do," Alexander insists. "How is he, by the way? I'm so sorry I missed him today."

"Don't worry, you're still his hero," she says, and her eyes grow fond, the way they always do when she’s talking about her kid while he's not there. "He's good. Mostly. He's having some trouble with kids at his school, but it's all too normal for a boy his age."

Alexander knows – he's been in his fair share of fights himself, back in his school days –, but he can't help feeling uncomfortable at the thought of small, innocent Philip growing up in the same violence and ruthlessness as he did.

"Why, what happened?"

Eliza shrugs. "You know how children are. Always saying stuff they don't mean because their parents don't teach them better."

Yeah, that doesn't cut it. "It's that bully, isn't it?" Alexander presses on. "Kevin?"

She frowns, surprised. "How do you know about Kevin?"

"Philip told me." _And I promised him I'd have his back,_ Alexander remembers. He might be overstepping with all these questions, but he intends to keep his promise. "He didn't hurt him, did he?"

"No, don't worry. Philip is smart enough to avoid getting into fights. But... Well, I don't know how much he told you, but Kevin and his clique had it in for a boy in their class and they mostly attacked him with homophobic slurs. At first Philip just wanted to be left alone – he's just changed schools, you know –, so he didn't get involved. Then, about three weeks ago, it started bothering him. Really bothering him. All of a sudden it was all he talked about, and he insisted I helped him come up with a plan to make things better."

Alexander doesn't have to check a calendar to know – Philip had his change of heart around the same time they spent that first evening together, when Alexander encouraged him to stop playing it safe. He didn't tell him to go and try to change things, he wouldn't have dreamed of it, but he still feels responsible in a way.

"So what did you decide to do?" Alexander has to know.

"He had me call the school board," she reveals. "I explained the problem to them, how it was upsetting my son and ruining the atmosphere in class, and asked they did something about it. They agreed to start a compulsory educational program about bullying and discrimination."

"Wow," Alexander says, genuinely impressed. "That's brilliant."

"It was sure more helpful than starting a mid-morning recess war against the bullies," Eliza concedes. "Still. There was some backlash on Philip."

"What kind of backlash?"

Eliza shakes her head, and for a second Alexander fears that's where she draws the line, she isn't going to get into that with him. Then she starts talking. "He's the kid in the bullies' radar now. The snitch. The one who stood up for the losers. The teachers know, of course, so they're keeping an eye on him, making sure he doesn't get hurt, but just because he's safe it doesn't mean he's happy." She looks at Alexander sadly before concluding: "He's lonely."

They know what it's like, both of them. Alexander was ostracized by countless groups of people throughout his life – he still is, outside his close-knit circle of friends, and Eliza just confessed as much to him. Worst part is, as well as they do know how awful it feels they're still in no position to help Philip. The most they can do is show him their support, make him understand that there are people who love him.

"Look, I know it's hardly a solution but if you want I could..." Alexander trails off, distracted. The song that was playing has ended and in the few seconds of silence before the next one starts he hears Laurens laugh, unrestrained and loud. Sounds like he's having the time of his life with the new guy.

Actually, it looks like they all are. Alexander knows he shouldn't, it's not going to do him any good, but he can't help throwing a look at the bar and he finds that Angelica has joined the two and is now engaged in an animated discussion with Purple Laf. It makes Alexander feel betrayed for some reason.

"Why don't you tell him?" Eliza asks after following his gaze. "That it bothers you when he does that?"

"It doesn't bother me," Alexander replies quickly, automatically. He realizes one second too late that she isn't supposed to know about it, and shit, if she does how many other people are onto him and Laurens?

"Hurts you, then," Eliza amends.

"Nope," Alexander denies again, and he's trying to play it cool but he knows he has no chance, not with the way he keeps stealing peeks at the bar.

Eliza sighs. "Now you're just being stubborn."

"I'm not, I..." Alexander starts saying, but his voice dies in his throat. The new guy has just finished saying something and if Angelica's indignant reaction is anything to go by she doesn't agree with him one bit, but Laurens... Laurens is looking at him with sheer adoration. It's the same way he looks at Alexander sometimes, when he does something real brave or clever or when they're writing together and he comes up with a brilliant line, and it hurts Alexander more than seeing him make out with someone else ever could.

Shit, Eliza is so right.

"You know what, I think I'll do it. I'll talk to him," he decides, standing up.

He catches a glimpse of Eliza's smug smile, but he's too focused on Laurens to flip her off like she deserves. That, and he still thinks she's too classy to put up with that – even though he suspects it's just another one of his romantic notions about her. The girl grew up with Angelica, after all, it would most likely take a lot more than that to offend her sensibilities.

"Hams!" Laurens welcomes him as he approaches the bar. The single syllable is enough for Alexander to realize that he's already tipsy. This is going to be so much fun. "Where the heck were you? You have to hear this, Jeff has this rad theory about..."

_Jeff_. Of course they're already on a first name basis. "Maybe later," Alexander cuts him off. "I need to talk to you."

"What, like right now?"

"Yeah, right now."

He starts walking in the direction of the door, and Laurens grabs his jacket and follows him. If he's annoyed at the interruption, he doesn't show it, and Alexander is grateful for it.

"Okay, so what is..." Laurens starts asking the second they're out, in the cold and out of sight, but Alexander doesn't let him finish, he pushes him against the nearest wall and seizes his mouth, pressing his whole body against his, chasing the wet warmth and taste of alcohol that his senses aren't quite awake enough to perceive yet. He's doing it because he needs the reassurance, he needs to know that he still gets to do this, and because he can't resist the way Laurens' cheeks flush in the night air, still a little too cold for the end of February. Mostly, though, he's doing it to buy himself some time. He knows if he talks now he's going to explode, tell Laurens absolutely everything he doesn't need to know, and he'll just fuck everything up.

Unfortunately for him, Laurens knows him well enough to sense that something's wrong. He breaks the kiss after a mere handful of seconds, asks: "Hey. What's up?"

Alexander wets his lips, nervous. He figured out what he wants to say – it's simple, actually, frighteningly so. Give him rhetoric and the elaborate speeches and he'll jump into it no questions asked, it's this kind of raw honesty he has a problem with. At least when he cares about the person in front of him.

"I hate it," he admits. "Seeing you hit on other guys."

Laurens sighs and leans against the wall. He looks like he was expecting this, and maybe he was. Eliza noticed, after all, and she doesn't know Alexander as well as Laurens does, doesn't spend as much time around him. Not for the first time, he wishes he was better at putting up a front.

"You said you didn't mind keeping things casual," Laurens reminds him.

"I know. I lied." Alexander takes a step forward, leans against the wall side by side with Laurens. He doesn't want to look him in the eye as he says what he's about to say. "Truth is, I was crazy about you and would have agreed to anything not to lose you. But this... this isn't working. You see it, right?"

Laurens draws back, defensive. "Wait. Are you giving me a ultimatum? Is that what we're doing here?"

Alexander sighs in pent-up annoyance. Why does Laurens refuse to get it? “Look, we tried it your way,” he says, doing his best to keep a calm, reasonable tone. “Let's see how mine goes. If you're as miserable as I've been, we'll just admit we're not good together and go back to being just friends."

"Uh-huh, no. I can't," Laurens insists, shaking his head. "I can't do it, I'm sorry."

"I'm just asking you to try," Alexander says softly, and he tries to take Laurens' hand but his friend doesn't let him. "Can't you do this one thing for me? Just this one? I do all sorts of things for you, after all."

He shouldn't have said that, he's letting his frustration speak for him. Then again, it's hard not to get frustrated at Laurens' detachment.

“Really? Like what?" Laurens asks, distrust still not quite gone from his voice.

"Like giving you all the space you want, whenever you want it, no questions asked," Alexander starts listing. "Or putting everything on hold every time you feel a little horny. Or lying to everyone I know. Or listening to…”

"Please. You don't want the others to know about us any more than I do."

"I don't give a shit, actually. But I hate all the secrecy, and the constant paranoia about getting caught, and your..."

Laurens is tired of listening, though. "You know what, fine," he snaps. "Let's have it your way."

And with that, he walks back inside.

"Laurens?" Alexander asks, but it's clear his friend isn't going to come back anytime soon. With an exasperated sigh, he follows him inside. "Laurens, what the hell are you doing?"

His roommate ignores him, choosing instead to go sit on the bar – much to Mulligan's dismay. He grabs an empty glass and starts swinging it in the air. "Attention, everyone! ... Mulls, my man, could you turn down the music for a second? Yeah, come on, I'm not wasted or anything. I'll be quick."

Alexander quickens his pace, catches up with him. "Fine, you made your point," he concedes, trying to drag him back down. "Now let's just go back to..."

"Hams and I are fucking," Laurens announces, swatting Alexander's hand away, and Alexander is so surprised that he lets him. _He did_ not. "Have been for almost a month now, and apparently that's enough for him to want to make it official." He turns to the few patrons in the room, who are all fixing him with perplexed eyes. He doesn't seem to notice – or maybe he does and has decided to ignore it. "So please, everyone, raise a glass to us! Also, as you probably know there's nothing less sexy than a clingy little whiner, so if some real man would like to come show me a good time I'd appreciate it a great deal. Cheers!"

With that last dig at Alexander, he slides down the counter and raises his eyebrow at him, almost as if to say, _Your move_. Or maybe _You brought this on yourself_? Alexander couldn't say. Even though he's known Laurens for a while now, he still isn't fluent in jerk.

With the exception of Purple Laf, who’s nowhere to be seen, the few patrons around tonight are regulars so they don't pay much attention to Laurens' little fit. They must think he's drunk, Alexander assumes. Unfortunately, their friends are a different story.

"Wait. Is that true?" Angelica asks.

Looks like Laurens isn't planning on getting involved in the mess he started, so it falls on Alexander to confess: "Yeah."

"So you broke the rule and lied to us," Mulligan says, anger mounting in his voice. "Every day for the last month."

"And you were together this afternoon, weren't you? That's why you were late to my party."

"Yeah."

"Wow. I might have expected it from Laurens, but you... I thought you were better than that, Alexander."

"We're gonna have to do something about it. I'm sorry, but I can't live with people I don't trust. You do agree with me, Laf, don't you? You're awfully quiet. "

"I thought we were closer than that."

"I'm really sorry, Angelica."

"Shit. Shit, Laf, you knew?"

"They didn't tell me anything either, _je te jure_. I just... I mean, it was quite obvious."

"Oh, no no no no, sweetheart. You don't get to act like a total jackass and then say I'm sorry and all is forgiven. I'm so not that kind of girl."

"Wait, so... both you and Eliza caught us?"

"And nobody thought of mentioning anything to me? Even though I'm the one who has to live with the two of them?"

"I didn't know anything about it, actually."

"What? But before, you told me..."

"Look, I didn't think it'd last. You know how Laurens is, I didn't want all of us to fight over something that..."

" _How Laurens is_? The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I noticed you liked him, I had no idea that the two of you were having sex!"

"It means you're a shithead and nobody can put up with you for more than a week or two. Why, is that so surprising?"

"Does it mean I'm finally free of you?"

"Sure! Go fuck anyone you like, it's not like you had a problem with it earlier."

"Hey! Are you listening to me? You owe me big time."

"See, this is exactly why we had a rule in the first place."

"I know, Angelica, I'll make it up to you."

"Don't worry, Mulligan, either he moves out or I'm..."

Whatever Laurens was about to say is swallowed by the sharp, crashing sound of the window shattering behind them. They all jump at the same time, some looking for cover, some trying to see what the hell is happening. Eliza is trying to stop a very pissed off Angelica from running out in the street, Lafayette has joined Mulligan behind the counter with a single leap, and Laurens... Laurens was standing right in front of Alexander no longer than three seconds ago, all arrogance and hostility, but his first instinct when the mess starts is to put himself between Alexander and the source of danger, shielding him with his body as best as he can. It's not like Alexander needs his protection, and it doesn't quite make up for how he's been acting, but he'd be lying if he said he doesn’t find the gesture touching.

It’s also dumb as hell, so he grabs Laurens by the hem of his sweater and drags his reckless ass to safety – or the closer thing to it he can find, which happens to be a couple of tall stools standing in front of the bar. Just in time too, because they've just crouched behind them when shots starts flying all around them. Alexander can't quite figure out what they are from his hiding spot, but they make a splattering noise as they hit their targets and the smell of old blood is unmistakeable. It's nauseating even to him.

Someone is shouting outside, and laughing, and some teenagery rebellious song is playing at full blast, loud enough to drown out the club's music. Alexander can hardly hear his own voice as he yells at Laurens to stay put.

It ends abruptly, the rain of blows ceasing at once and the music quickly fading in the distance. Angelica is the first on her feet. She runs to the door, Lafayette close behind her, but they must be too late because they stop in the threshold, defeated.

Well, Lafayette is. Angelica is understandably furious.

" _Fuck you!_ " she yells to the empty street. "Fuck you and your entitled asses! Come back here and face me, you fucking cowards! You hear me? Come back here!"

"Are you okay?" Laurens asks, making to touch Alexander's face to check for himself.

In spite of what just happened, Alexander isn't so ready to forgive and forget. He draws back, stands up. "I'm fine."

Laurens nods and follows him up, the concern in his eyes quickly replaced by something colder. That's probably for the best, Alexander decides, looking away.

That's when they finally notice the total destruction around them.

"Holy shit," Laurens blurts out, appalled.

For the second time in a little over a month, the front window was smashed to pieces – with bricks, judging by the evidence scattered around the floor. It's a miracle no one was hurt. That's not even the worst part, though. After destroying the window, the vandals decided to throw dozens of water balloons inside, and to fill them with blood instead of water just to give them a little more kick. It's going to take a long time to scrub it all off, and even longer before they get rid of the stench.

Alexander is seething. This place is their safe house, Angelica's life, and it looks like a slaughterhouse now.

He catches up with Angelica, who's crying bitter tears of rage and helplessness by the door. Most of the patrons have decided to take the chance to slip out before the vandals come back, but a couple of regulars are gathered around her, trying to soothe her or murmuring amongst themselves in outrage. Alexander spots Burr amongst them, and can't help wondering how long he's been around.

"Just close shop and go home, alright?" Eliza is telling Angelica. "I'll clean this up. You don't have to worry about it."

"Of course I do," Angelica protests. "Let's say we get this mess cleaned up and we fix the window again. Then what? Are we just supposed to wait 'til they strike again? 'til they actually hurt someone?"

"We can turn to the police, tell them everything," Eliza suggests, but she doesn't sound too convinced herself.

Angelica shakes her head, sniffing. "Already tried, remember? They won't do shit, they're too..."

"Wait. You know who can help us?" Alexander interrupts her, a plan starting to form in his mind. "Burr."

The others all look at him like he's crazy. Right – they must still be pissed. Which, okay, is fair, if Alexander can refuse to forgive Laurens so easily he supposes they have every right to hold a grudge as well.

Burr doesn't seem to be too pleased to be singled out like that, either. "And why is that?" he asks, more than a little worried. He also seems to be reluctantly interested in Alexander's plan, though, and that's all Alexander needs for the time being.

"You had cameras installed all over our building for par... _perfectly sensible_ security reasons," he checks himself at the last second. "Including one at the entrance, overlooking the whole street. Now, if the vandals escaped in that direction, they _must_ have taken Clermont Street 'cause it's a one way street."

"And got caught on camera," Lafayette concludes for him, eyes bright with excitement. "That's brilliant!"

Burr nods, slowly. "Yes, good thinking. I guess that could help you find the vandals."

"And do what, exactly?" Eliza asks, worried.

Laurens replies before anyone else can. "Teach 'em a lesson. What else?" He shrugs, and there's something dangerous in his casualness. Alexander always though they were just alike, Laurens and him – fundamentally good, way too impulsive –, but he's starting to think he was wrong. The look Laurens has right now is that of someone who could murder in cold blood and fucking enjoy it.

Eliza seems to like it even less than Alexander. "And you think that would solve anything?"

"I don't know, but they deserve it. And let's be real, it's not like we can make things worse at this point."

"Really? Because I can think of..."

"Guys, come on, stop," Angelica interrupts them. She looks at them, her sister and her friends, and draws in a shaky breath. "Look, we tried to ignore them and it didn't work. We tried to play by the rules, ask the police for help, and that didn't work either."

"I don't like where this is going," Eliza murmurs.

Angelica smiles fondly at her, and sadly, squeezing her hand. "I'm sorry, sis, but Laurens is right. It's time we taught those punks a lesson."


	21. In which Alexander is at war

Alexander wakes to a waterfall of dark braids and the faint scent of booze.

_In another universe, this could be every morning_ , his dazed mind informs him with unapologetic sadism. He tries to hold onto them both, sleep and the fantasy of sharing Angelica's bed day in day out. Of coming to the bar after work just to see her. Of kissing her in front of everyone without fear of her throwing a fit.

Alexander stirs and sighs. Trying to use his lesbian friend to distract himself from his own gay drama is just as bad an idea as it sounds. In his defense, though, he's never fought with Laurens before, not like this, and it _hurts_. He's up for pretty much anything that could make him forget the disaster that was last night, if only for a few minutes – self-indulgent gross fantasies included.

It's too late now, anyway. He's not really sleepy anymore, he knows if he keeps lying uselessly like this his mind is just going to wander to Laurens, again and again and _again_ , and it's just going to make him more miserable. He lets the fantasy fade then, and pulls himself up so that he's sitting rather than lying on the leather seat in the booth he and Angelica are sharing.

She's awake too, and smiles up at him when he meets her eye.

"Slept well, sunshine?" he asks, smiling back. He wasn't expecting her to be in a good mood, not after the night they've had.

She sits up next to him and rubs at her eyes. "Not at all. I'm freezing, and I kept waking up to check nobody got in through the broken window. But hey, at least a couple rich teenagers got to make their pulsist statement. A big hooray for freedom of speech."

Now this, this is closer to what Alexander was expecting. "They'll get their comeuppance," he promises, putting an arm around her shoulder. While he's really grateful he doesn't have to worry about being cold right now, he can't help wishing he still had enough body heat to help his friend warm up. "Just you wait, as soon as Burr gets us their license plate we're going to give their asses some well-deserved kicking.”

"Thank you," she says, curling up against his side. "For staying with me tonight, mostly. You made a shit situation a tad better."

Alexander thinks of how he would have spent the night if he hadn't and makes a face. "Please. I should probably thank you for giving me an excuse to avoid the drama at home."

"True," she laughs. "I must have missed something, by the way. I thought it'd be Lafayette and Mulligan against you and Laurens, but everyone seemed to be pissed at everyone last night."

"Yeah, it's... more complicated than it should be," Alexander sighs. The scenario Angelica is picturing, with its neat little factions facing each other, almost sounds like a dream compared to the real situation. "From what I could gather, Lafayette is mostly just disappointed in me and Laurens for getting caught, while Mulligan is real mad at us, and at Lafayette too for not being mad enough. Oh, and for not telling him about us right when he found out."

It comes out way more jumbled than he hoped, but Angelica still nods in understanding. "And you and Laurens are fighting because...?" she risks.

"Because he's an asshole," Alexander replies, and Angelica laughs. "I'm serious! You know how he is. He can't be a decent human being to the people he's fucking, for whatever reason. I don't know, maybe he hates himself so much that he can't even respect anyone who likes him."

It's too forward, dangerously close to outing Laurens' depression, but Alexander isn't worried about hurting him right now. Laurens hurt him first, and he has every right to vent about it with a friend if he feels the need to.

Lucky for Laurens, Angelica doesn't ask what he meant by that. "You and Laurens," she says instead, shaking her head pensively. "Can you believe I didn't see it coming? I thought it was too obvious."

"Yeah, 'cause we get along so well," Alexander mumbles, bitter, but Angelica doesn't hear him. She's stood up to walk to the door, where Burr is standing with his briefcase in one hand and a plastic envelope under the other arm.

He looks like a cat that spilled the milk and doesn't know whether he got away with it or should expect some kind of punishment.

"The picture," he says, offering the envelope to Angelica. No greetings, no pleasantries. He wants this to be over with as soon as possible, and it's actually pretty hilarious to watch. Hilarious, and a little stressful. "The vehicle they used is a 2015 Mercedes cargo van, license plate RDRULEZ1. You should have no trouble finding it."

Angelica looks at the picture and smiles at him. "Thank you so much."

Burr nods and makes to walk away, but then he stops. "Let's make one thing clear," he says. "My agreeing to help you with this one step doesn't imply in any way that I'm a part of whatever big revenge plan you've concocted."

Wow. Alexander had no expectations, and he still managed to be disappointed. "Really?" he can't help asking. "You're not even taking our side now?"

"I just don't want any trouble" is Burr's pathetic excuse. 

"Well neither did..."

"Alexander, it's okay," Angelica interrupts him. She turns to Burr again. "Thanks for the help, man. I owe you."

"No, you don't," he replies, smiling in that enigmatical way of his. "But Alexander does. Will you step outside for a second? I need to speak with you."

Alexander exchanges a worried glance with Angelica before complying with the request. What could Burr possibly want from him? More to the point, what could he want that's so important he'd remind Alexander of his debt to him before even breaching the subject? Unfortunately, Angelica seems even more confused about it than he is.

The sky is just beginning to clear when they get outside, the street lazily coming to life as people begin opening up shop or come out of their overcrowded apartments to head to work. Burr doesn't seem to be too worried about strangers listening in on the conversation, though.

"I need a favor," he reveals without even eyeing the passers-by suspiciously.

That much, Alexander had already guessed on his own. "Yeah, I figured. What is it?" he cuts to the chase.

Burr sighs. He still looks uncomfortable, but for completely different reasons than before. He probably isn't used to asking for help, Alexander realizes. And he must hate to be asking Alexander of all people. "It's about this friend of mine," he finally starts explaining. "She and her husband have been sued for extortion, and they need a good lawyer."

"Right." Something still doesn't add up. "So you want me to what, take the case? Aren't you a lawyer too?"

"I am, but she's PDS and my firm isn't too keen on representing people like her." He says exactly that, _my firm_ and _people like her_ , as if he were above all of it and unconcerned with either. It's all Alexander can do not to spit in his eye. "Especially when they can't afford our services."

"Wait. Are you really asking me to convince my bosses to take up a charity case for _your_ friend's sake just because you're too chicken to do it yourself?" Yeah, it doesn't sound any less outrageous now that Alexander has said it out loud. "Why don't you go fuck yourself?"

He's about to walk back into the Archive when Burr's voice stops him. "You owe me, remember? For letting you stay at the apartment."

"I also seem to remember you saying you were just helping me out of the kindness of your heart. That you were never going to blackmail me," Alexander points out. He's suddenly starting to regret not giving more credit to Laurens and Mulligan's fears. Maybe if he'd helped them out, or even shown a little concern over the situation, they'd have found some dirt on Burr by now and he wouldn't be able to make such ludicrous requests.

"This is not blackmail," Burr protests. "I'm sorry if I made you feel that way. But think about it. I risked my position in the building to lend you a hand when you needed it most. It's only fair you do something for me now, isn't it?" He smiles a cruel smile, and Alexander would bet he's been dying to throw the following part right into his face: "Besides, I thought you'd welcome the chance to help a poor PDS sufferer in need. 'Everyone deserves to be represented', right? Or were you just talking about the PDS sufferers that happen to be able to cover you in money?”

Asshole. So this is what it's all about – Alexander kicking his ass in the Bloom case. The worst part is, he's kinda got a point.

"Look, I'll talk to my bosses about it, okay?" is all he can promise. "And I'll do my best to persuade them, but there's no guarantee I'll make it. I mean, even you have to admit that you're asking me to do the impossible."

"I believe nothing is impossible if you really put your mind to it," Burr argues, and again, it's total bullshit. He doesn't believe it – Alexander does, and Burr's just relishing the fact that he can effectively use his beliefs against him. Sneaky, snotty monster. "So I'm going to help you. I'm going to give you ten days, and then I'm going to tell administration about your living situation. Who knows, maybe I'll let something slip about your dear friend Laurens as well. That should be enough motivation for you to get the job done, don't you think?"

Alexander doesn't even want to start picturing what might happen to Laurens if he were to be kicked into the street. Right now, he'd rather picture what he's going to do to Burr if he really makes good on that threat. "Let's make one thing clear. You drag Laurens into this, you're going to regret it. I'll make sure of that."

For whatever reason, Burr doesn't seem to believe him. "Good. That's exactly the kind of determination I was looking for," he says, unimpressed. He makes a show of checking his watch. “I’d love to stay and keep chatting, but I’m afraid I have to go to work. Have a nice day."

Alexander wishes he could kill him with the mere power of his seething look. Or at least that he could run after him and spit at him all the insults he deserves, and then some. For all his practicing, though, he still can't do the former, and as for the latter... he's about to, he even takes a step in Burr's direction, but then he stops. Not because he's afraid. He's too mad to be afraid right now. No, the reason he lets Burr go is that he's shocked, and sort of proud of him in spite of himself. A friend of his asked him for a favor, and he decided to go and blackmail Alexander to help her. That's the closest he's ever come to putting himself at risk for someone else.

Of course, that doesn't change the fact that he should have taken the case himself instead of passing the buck to Alexander. And really, now that Alexander thinks about it, that's kind of his MO – he gets asked to represent a friend in court and finds her someone else to do it instead. He'll stay up all night to check security cameras to find the vandals that destroyed the Archive but refuse to go after them himself. He doesn't go to protests, but makes sure to call in a favor from a longtime acquaintance to grant the organizers a safe space away from the pouring rain. It's not that he doesn't care about anyone else, he just doesn't want to be the first one in line. Or even the second or third.

"So what was that all about?" Angelica asks, materializing next to him. She must have used the time alone to straighten herself up, because she suddenly looks stunning as usual. Even with the dark circles under her eyes.

Alexander shrugs. "I think I'm either going to kill him, or he's going to kill me."

"Do you have to fight with everyone?" she scolds him, but there's no venom in her voice. "It's not like the guy didn't come through this time."

"He drives me nuts," Alexander tiredly confesses. "Doesn't he drive you nuts? He could be great, but he just contents himself with mediocrity because he's too spineless to stand up for anything."

Angelica looks at him sadly, but doesn't give him her opinion. "I need coffee," she changes the subject. "I'll make some for you as well, alright? And then you can go. The glazier should be here soon anyway, and I don't want you to be late for work because of me."

"Don't you worry, the bosses love me," Alexander says, smug, following her back inside. "Make sure you send the picture to Mulligan, okay? If he runs it today, we can pay a visit to our little vandal friends as early as tonight."

 

To no one's surprise, they track the van to the 10021 ZIP code, aka Rich Living Realm. Only Lafayette finds it shocking, pointing out how unfair it is that poor Upper East Side kids don't have any PDS-friendly establishments to harass locally and have to come as far as Brooklyn to have some fun. _I expected better from you, Manhattan_. Mulligan almost laughs, then remembers that he's supposed to be pissed at him and covers it with a cough that's almost convincing.

It sucks, seeing his group of friends fall apart like this. All the more so because Alexander knows he's the main responsible for it. I mean, let's be fair, Laurens and Mulligan are still a douche and a nazi respectively, but it's not like Alexander didn't know what he was getting into when he decided to break the rules and start sleeping with Laurens. God, what the hell was he thinking?

He wasn't thinking, that's the point. He was so smitten with Laurens that he lost sight of everything else. That ends today, though.

They walk all the way to the Upper East Side, because Mulligan decided it was safer than trying to smuggle a duffel bag full of makeshift weapons on the subway and the others could either go with him or go fuck themselves. Alexander doesn't mind – at least it spares him from having to put on make up.

Unfortunately, it also means that he has to spend a long, long time walking alongside people who either have wronged him or feel like _he_ has wronged them and are therefore pissed at him. And while everyone else seems fine with the aggrieved silence that has fallen between them ever since last night at the Archive, Alexander isn't the type of guy to ignore problems and hope they'll go away on their own. He's already hidden from the situation last night and it didn't solve anything – time to jump in and do something about it himself.

"Okay guys, time to air it out," he urges, occupying the space between Lafayette and Mulligan and thus bridging the distance between them. The original plan was to put an arm around either of his friends and draw them even closer, but then he sees the dangerous light in Mulligan's eyes and thinks better of it. Baby steps. "I obviously fucked up, so let's hear it. Tell me off."

Lafayette looks at him tiredly. Mulligan is suddenly very interested in the sky-high buildings lining the sidewalk.

"Does it mean I should go first?" Laurens hazards from behind the three of them.

Alexander turns to fix him with a hard stare. "You don't get to say anything that isn't _I'm the biggest jerk ever and I'm mortified and I know I don't deserve it but I beg you to forgive me._ "

"Oh for fuck's sake," Laurens groans. "Do you really believe that? 'cause if I remember well, I was nothing but honest with you. I told you what I could and couldn't give you, and you still thought you were entitled to..."

"What, to some respect? You're right, how dare I ask for it. How dare I ask we have one conversation without you acting up and dragging everyone else into it."

"I thought that was what you wanted? No more secrecy? Or were you just..."

"I swear to god, if I have to hear one more word about your fucking quarrel I'm going to bash both your heads in with one of these clubs," Mulligan steps in, raising the bag for good measure, and for a second Alexander has no doubt that he means it.

So much for patching things up. They spend the rest of the walk in silence.

It's the middle of the night when they reach the address. The van is parked in the street right outside the house. It's a dreadful bright green and all the windows are tinted except for the driver's one, but that's all that catches Alexander's eye because he doesn't know shit about cars. Not that it matters – he doesn't need to know how powerful the engine is or what year the model came out to smash it up. Though he has to admit that knowing the crazy amount of money it's bound to be worth would make it even more enjoyable.

"Just so you know, guys... We destroy that, and I mean really fuck it up, we're talking about 50,000$’s worth of damage," Laurens shares with the rest of the group. It looks like the prospect of imminent violence is raising his spirits.

Not that Alexander cares. "What use does a teenager even have for a van right in the heart of the city?” he asks, turning to Lafayette. He figures he's the safest person to talk to, at least until Angelica gets there.

Laurens doesn't get the hint, or maybe he just chooses to ignore it. "You mean besides using it as a getaway car?" He only needs a second to think about it. "Storage, maybe. They must have a place for all the golf clubs and hunting rifles and skis for when they go weekend in their cabins."

"Is that bitterness I hear? Are you jealous Daddy never got _you_ a van to have some rich boy fun with?"

"You're such a dick, Alexander."

"Right. _I'm_ the dick in this situation."

"Okay, _j’en ai assez_ ,” Lafayette interrupts their pissing contest. "This is serious business, guys. Think of all the crap we get when we don't do anything wrong – there's no way they're letting us off with a warning when we actually go and break the law. Any of us gets caught, we're either facing jail or being sent back to the treatment center as non-compliants. So I need you focused, _oui_? You too, Mulligan. I don't care how angry you all are, we're in this together so either we work together, too, or we call it off."

He has a point. They can all go on being mad at each other when they've put a few miles between the crime scene and their own delinquent asses.

"He's right," Alexander agrees. He looks between Laurens and Mulligan before tentatively extending a hand to the former. "Truce?"

Laurens doesn't take his hand, but he nods. "Yeah. Truce."

That'll have to do. Alexander turns to Mulligan with a questioning look in his eyes.

"Works for me," Mulligan accepts. "Just don't think this means you're getting off scot-free."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Alexander assures him.

"As long as we're clear."

They wait in uncomfortable silence for the last few lights in the street to turn off and for Angelica to catch up with them. At some point Mulligan leaves, mumbling something about scouring the street for cameras or other stuff that could get them in trouble, and his absence somehow ends up making things even more awkward. Alexander has only felt this disconnected from the others once before, that first morning in the apartment when he almost blew everything between the four of them. It's a horrible feeling.

He notices the neon sign of a bar a couple of buildings away and sees his way out. "I'm going to check out that place," he announces to the others. "Give me a call when it's time to go in."

"Are you sure it's a good idea? People could notice you," Lafayette points out.

"So what? All they're going to see is a zombie," Alexander counters. He doesn't add that right now even the prospect of being dragged away by a mob seems preferable to spending another second in this company.

Laurens reads right through him, though. "Tell you what, I'll go," he decides, jumping off the step he was sitting on. "I'm less likely to draw attention, and I doubt they sell any PDS stuff anyway."

That's... actually a good point. Not that Alexander is going to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. "Whatever. Just make sure you don't get so drunk you can't run from the cops."

"I thought you'd be happy to get rid of me," Laurens counters, and leaves before Alexander can say anything else.

Stubborn little shit. Alexander hopes he's just talking, that he isn't really planning on getting into that kind of trouble just to mess with him. Knowing Laurens, that isn't really beyond the realm of possibility.

"Such a delight, isn't he?" Lafayette asks as they watch him walk away. "I hope the sex was worth it."

"I'm sorry," Alexander tells him, because he does feel bad. After all, Lafayette is the one blameless victim in this whole mess. He just wanted everyone to get along, and now his best friend isn't even talking to him. "If I'd known this would happen..."

"I know. If only someone had warned you," Lafayette mumbles, looking away.

That's true, he did warn Alexander. He told him about Laurens' relationship drama, and the dangers of upsetting the status quo at the apartment. The worst part is, Alexander didn't forget about his advice. He just chose to ignore it.

"You're right," he admits. "I should have listened to you. I was an idiot, and there’s nothing I can say except that I’m sorry. I really am."

Lafayette sighs, and there's something soft in his eyes when he looks back at Alexander. "Hammie, Hammie. You're not a bad person, but you're not half as good as you think you are."

Alexander groans. "Can't you just yell at me? You're starting to sound like Burr."

"Now _that's_ an outrage I won't be so quick to forgive," Lafayette laughs, and Alexander's chest feels too small to contain all the love and admiration he has for his friend.

"You know, Laf," he says with conviction, "you're the coolest person I know."

Lafayette grins at him. " _Merci_ , but that's not saying much. All of your other friends are complete drama queens."

"Says the guy who had a meltdown when Rihanna liked one of his tweets.”

“Okay, first of all, _excuse-moi_ for being excited about the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And second, you’re allowed to be dramatic over happy things. It’s kinda the whole point, isn’t it?“

Not even Alexander can argue with that logic.

His heart feels a little lighter after that. No matter how things end with Laurens and Mulligan, at least he knows he has found a friend for life in Lafayette. And it's not just that – seeing Lafayette smile and joke around in spite of everything is making him hopeful. It's making him really believe they can fix it, no matter how long it takes before Alexander can forgive Laurens and Mulligan can forgive everyone else. They're too awesome to go down like that.

"So how long have you known about me and Laurens?" Alexander asks, going to sit next to him on the edge of the sidewalk. "Were we really that obvious?"

"Not _that_ obvious. I'm just naturally suspicious of Laurens putting his academic duties before partying," Lafayette explains, and Alexander can't help laughing because it's so true. Lafayette smiles at him, a strange light in his eyes. "You really fell for him, didn't you?"

Alexander spreads his arms in a hopeless gesture. "That's me. Always falling for the lesbians and the assholes."

"Stop saying that," Lafayette rebukes him. "Laurens is a good guy. And god knows he doesn't need one more person telling him otherwise."

"I know," Alexander admits, and sighs. "I'm just mad. At him and myself. You told me how he was, that he gets bored with everyone, but for some reason I thought I was special. That it wouldn't happen to me."

"Did it?"

"What do you think? You saw what happened last night."

"I saw you two get into a fight and him overreacting," Lafayette argues. "If he were simply bored with you, he wouldn't have bothered. He would have told you to stick it, not made a scene in front of everyone. Especially considering that he knew what consequences it might have."

"So what, are you telling me he only acted like a dick because he cares?" Alexander isn't that convinced. And even if it were true, it doesn't really excuse Laurens' behavior. It might make it even worse, actually.

"Something like that," Lafayette confirms. Before Alexander can protest, he adds: "Mind you, that doesn't mean you don't have every right to demand he treats you better. All I'm saying is... what you two have, it's different from what he and I had. And if I could forgive Laurens for the way he treated me, you can at least try to have a conversation with him."

Damn him and his always being right. "Okay fine, I'll try and talk to him," Alexander relents. "Honestly, I'm more worried about Mulligan. He seems... done, you know?"

"Yes," Lafayette agrees, resting his head against Alexander's shoulder. He doesn't add anything else, and that says a lot about how scared he is.

One by one, the others catch up with them – first Mulligan, then Angelica, who spent the whole day fixing up the damage at the bar and is really really looking forward to give karma a little push, and finally Laurens, after Laf calls him and tells him to get his ass to where they are. To Alexander's relief, he was conscientious enough not to get drunk. He does seem to be a little buzzed, but that could just as well be the adrenaline's doing.

"You losers ready to stir some shit up?" he asks, a wild light in his eyes.

" _We_ are," Mulligan stresses out, throwing him a balaclava. One can never be too careful. "You move your ass and get ready too."

"Yes, sir."

They don't have much in the way of a plan. Alexander would feel much better if they'd spent some time coming up with one, but the others weren't too keen on talking to him or each other and Mulligan eventually shut him up by saying that it was a simple operation, get in-smash things up-get out, and he should stop making everything so fucking complicated. Everyone else seemed to agree with him, so Alexander was overruled. Democracy is the worst.

They each grab a weapon from the duffel bag (Alexander manages to get his hands on a golf club, which he thinks would be especially ironic if Laurens turned out to be right about the van's content) and walk stealthily to the van, doing their best to keep out of the cones of light coming from the streetlights. They didn't discuss this either, but as owner of the Archive and principal victim of last night's attack it's pretty obvious that Angelica should be the one to do the honors. She raises her bat and smashes the left headlight with a single, lethal blow.

"Woohoo!" she shouts. No point worrying about someone hearing them when the van's alarm has gone off and is currently waking up the whole street. All they have to do now is be quick. "Take that, you privileged skinheads!"

Laurens is the first to join her, shattering the front window, and after that they all jump in. Lafayette punctures all four tires while Mulligan leaves a trail of pretty impressive dents all over the doors and Alexander destroys the rearview mirrors. They key the van, cover it in blemishes, tear apart the upholstery, all in a handful of seconds. They brought spray paint as well, and Angelica is in the process of leaving a series of very colorful profanities on the front when they get caught.

"Hey!" a guy that can't be over twenty shouts at them, hurrying out of the house right in front of them. "That's my van, you fuckers!"

"Let's ride!" Mulligan urges, and they all follow him, dash to the end of the street. The guy takes a few steps in their direction, but he's one against five so he realizes pretty quickly that's not a fight he wants to have.

Alexander hasn't felt so powerful in ages. He doesn't mind doing things by the book – he knows that's usually the best way to solve problems, actually – but there's a special thrill in taking matter into your hands and standing up for yourself on your own. Or well, together with the four people you like and respect and care about the most in the whole world, which makes it even better. For once they're not the ones running for cover while a bunch of privileged bullies or sadistic cops do whatever the hell they like with them. For once, they're the ones everyone else should be afraid of. As it should be – they're the predators, after all, Alexander reminds himself, and he'd be worried about the thought's implications if he weren't too busy feeling so amazing.

Predictably, they don't keep the upper hand for long. They have yet to reach the end of the street when a police car blocks their way, sirens blazing. Of course. When Angelica is targeted by vandals, it's wait and see, this is a big city and NYPD has bigger issues to worry about, but when it's spoilt white kids calling they run to the rescue no questions asked.

"Follow me!" Mulligan tells them, making a sudden U-turn and taking a backstreet so narrow that there isn't room for streetlights to illuminate it. Alexander doesn't mind, his sight works perfectly even in the dark, but he is a little worried about Laurens and Angelica.

He shouldn't be. Angelica is right behind Mulligan, following in his steps as if she could see in the dark too, and Laurens catches up with Alexander only a couple of seconds later. Their eyes meet and Alexander sees all he's feeling reflected in Laurens' like in a mirror – the fear and excitement and the high that comes from breaking the rules and be awesome at it, and then something more personal. Something that says, I'd follow you anywhere, fight anyone with you. He offers Laurens his hand and he takes it readily, lets Alexander guide him to safety.

He couldn't say how long the chase lasts. Probably less than it feels. It's terribly easy to lose track of time as they dart in and out of backstreets, Laurens' grip on him and the ever-moving silhouette of Mulligan right ahead the only two foci of his attention.

It must have been a while, though, because Alexander is dangerously close to falling into a trancelike state and both Angelica and Laurens are well out of breath when Mulligan finally stops and declares: "That's enough. We should be out of danger here."

"Oh thank goodness," Angelica breathes out, exhausted. "That was really impressive, man. I didn't expect you to know your way through the Upper East Side better than a banker's son."

Laurens nods in agreement. "For real. That was some Sherlock-worthy shit."

Mulligan shrugs, but he's obviously pleased by the compliments. "Well, you know, I figured we could use an alternative escape route."

"So you did do some planning before the operation!" Alexander exclaims, half-proud, half-offended.

"Of course I did! About useful stuff, not the way to better smash rich people vans."

"That was awesome, by the way," Laurens interjects. "I still maintain setting it on fire would have been more effective, but god did that feel good!"

He and Angelica high five, a wicked grin on both their faces. Laurens turns to Alexander then, his hand still raised, and his smile acquires a hesitant color. He's afraid, Alexander realizes. He doesn't know whether Alexander has forgiven him, doesn't think he will high five him back.

He's right about that one. Alexander bypasses his hand and goes straight for his mouth, kisses Laurens with enough force to surprise even himself and make Laurens stagger back, caught completely unprepared. Alexander smiles against his lips, chasing the adrenaline and longing on them, finally feeling like everything's right again for the first time in too many hours.

Laurens breaks the kiss way too soon, still too out of breath from the chase to keep going for more than a few seconds, but his hands never leave Alexander's face, stroking his cheeks and his ears and teasing the sensitive spot at the nape of his neck that's always the first to come alive with his touch.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, forehead pressed against Alexander’s. "I'm so sorry."

Alexander has been waiting all day to hear those words, but when Laurens finally says them he sounds so regretful that the thought of gloating doesn't even cross his mind. "No, _I'm_ sorry," he says instead, taking Laurens' hands into his. "I had no right to demand anything from you, not after you told me you didn't want anything serious."

"Yeah, but I did know it bothered you when I hit on other guys and I still did it. Right in front of you."

"It's okay, I don't care," Alexander shuts him off. He knows that's a conversation they should have, and soon, but right now he's more interested in going back to making out.

They do. At least until Angelica walks up to them and quips: "Aww, look at you, reconciling over petty vandalism. There's really nothing that a little bit of violence can't solve, is there?"

Alexander laughs, and is about to reply in kind when his eyes fall on Mulligan. He's standing a little apart from the rest of the group, and at first Alexander thinks he isn't comfortable with his friends kissing in front of him but then he realizes he's scanning the darkness with a worried look about him.

"Mulligan? Is everything alright?" he asks, taking a step in his direction.

"We've been here for six minutes now," Mulligan points out, still looking in the distance. "Where the hell is Laf?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.


	22. In which Alexander sits tight

When Alexander was twelve years old, the resident school bully was Brian Wilcott. They were in middle school, old enough to stop discriminating others because of the color of their skin or their lack of either of the two standard approved parental figures and to start discriminating them for more nuanced reasons. Like how much your parents made, for example. Needless to say, Alexander didn't really benefit from the mob's change of perspective. He just went from being a filthy Latino with no dad to being a filthy Latino with no dad _nor_ a GameBoy Color of his own, which was supposed to be the worst part somehow.

He didn't care. He didn't need video games to prove that he was better than the others – his grades were already proof enough, and he always believed if he was going to get anywhere in life it was going to be thanks to his own smarts and heart, not with the help of powerful friends. People can turn their backs on you for all sorts of reasons, and only a fool would place his own future in the hands of others.

That being said, pride was his biggest flaw even as a kid and the way his schoolmates looked down on him in spite of his obvious superiority bothered him a whole friggin' lot. He knew the teachers were on his side, at least the ones who mattered, but he'd never go cry to them that the other kids were being mean. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. So whenever something happened, it fell to his mother to put up with his tirades.

One evening he was walking home from the library and he was in a terrible mood. He still remembers why: Lina had broken up with him after a single week of dating, because Brian was free now that he and Karen weren't speaking to each other and he was nicer than Alexander. "Nicer" meaning his parents gave him enough pocket money for him to take her to the movies and the fancy ice cream place. Yeah, he also followed kids half his size after school and called them names and shoved them and taunted them about stealing their girlfriends, but he could pay for his girl's lunch and that was all that counted, wasn't it?

He hadn't wanted to go home right after school – Mom was working late and he had a project to work on anyway – but he knew she'd be back by the time he left the library. He was looking forward to telling her all that had happened. Even though there was nothing she could do about the situation, she always seemed to find a way to make Alexander feel better.

She wasn't there to comfort Alexander when he arrived, though. He remembers it clearly, better than any other childhood memory. Turning the key into the lock, and lifting the door just a little to open it because it wasn't working properly those days. Stepping inside, calling " _Mama, estoy aquì!_ ". Getting no response. Checking the kitchen and finding it empty, save for the half-cooked chicken and rice on the stove.

He'd known all his life it was a possibility. Mom didn't hide things from him, not important things like this, and besides, she and his father used to argue about it all the time when he was still around. Deportation – Alexander had grown to hate the word, to fear everything it entailed more than war or his parents divorcing.

The moment he saw the unfinished meal, he knew it had happened. Mom was gone, they'd taken her away forever. They had discussed what he should do if that were ever to happen – call a neighbor, tell them about it and ask if he could spend the night with them, wait for Mom to call him so they could discuss the next steps. Be brave. Alexander had memorized everything perfectly, so much so that a teeny tiny irrational part of him almost hoped his mother would be deported just so he could show off that he'd got it.

He hadn't got it. At all. He knew he was supposed to go knock on Ms. Rosa's door, but if he did that then he had to explain to her everything that had happened and he couldn't. For once he didn't want to share his tragedy with anyone else.

So he went to his mother's bed, hid under the covers and cried and cried and cried. It took him almost two hours to calm down and finally get with the program. Ms. Rosa was nicer than ever – she let him order his favorite pizza and put him up in her son’s old room. Alexander didn’t shed any more tears that night. Adults didn’t cry, and he’d stopped being a kid the moment he tore himself away from the bedroom and accepted that from that moment on, he was on his own.

He has a sudden urge to hide in his mother’s bed again when they call Laf's phone for the fourth time and it goes straight to voicemail. It's strange, ridiculous even – Alexander is an adult now, it's not like he depends on his friend and as much as he loves him, his life could go on relatively unchanged even if something had indeed happened to him. For some reason, though, all the rational thinking in the world can't untie the knot of pure panic that's been getting tighter and tighter in his stomach ever since Mulligan noticed they'd lost Lafayette.

"They can't have got him," Laurens is protesting vehemently. "He was right behind me!"

"All the more reason why he should be here by now," Mulligan points out, phone still pressed to his ear. He must be scared out of his mind too, but he doesn't show it. His tone is still neutral, maybe just a pinch too much so, and instead of letting the bad thoughts get the best of him he's doing all he can to find his friend. Alexander is a little jealous of his composure. "Hey, it's me. You at the station tonight? ... Oh. Oh, okay then, never mind. No really, it's okay. I wanted to ask you for a favor, but if you're not... Nothing, it's this friend of mine, I'm afraid they might have taken him in. Yeah, I know, I know. But he's PDS, so I'm afraid he... You'd do that, really? You're the best. No, I'm serious. I'll see you there in... let's say 20?”

"Cop friend?" Alexander inquires when Mulligan pockets his phone.

He nods. "She was supposed to be off-duty tonight, but she says she'll meet me at the station and we can ask around."

"Awesome, let's go."

Alexander starts walking, but he immediately realizes Mulligan isn't following. He stops.

"Well? Are we going or what?"

"I'm going," Mulligan sets things straight. "You too, Angelica, if you want, but I'm not taking either of you," he declares, pointing at Alexander and Laurens.

"What?" Laurens blurts out, outraged.

Alexander is just as shocked. "Really? You want to hold a grudge _now_?"

"It's not about that. This is going to be a delicate matter, I don't need you two fucking things up with your tempers."

Laurens snorts. "Bullshit."

"No, he's got a point,” Angelica steps in. "We'll draw less attention if we don't go in in a big group. And we need someone at home in case Laf turns up there."

That seems highly unlikely, but standing here arguing isn't going to help either. And while Alexander is perfectly capable of maintaining an unimpeachable conduct even in a situation like this, he isn't that sure about Laurens.

Time to find a compromise.

"You call us the second you know something," Alexander decides. "And answer your phones when we call you. No matter if you're talking to someone else, no matter if we just called you two minutes earlier and nothing has happened since then, one of you is always going to pick up."

"Deal," Angelica accepts without even consulting Mulligan.

He rolls his eyes at her, or maybe at Alexander's requests, but he doesn't protest. "Glad we could settle this like adults. See you later."

Angelica takes the time to hug Alexander and pat Laurens on the back before following him. "Don't panic, alright? It's going to be okay. We’re going to fix this.”

 

For the record, leaving two people like Alexander and Laurens with nothing to do in a stressful situation? Terrible idea. They can't sit tight and wait for news, they're simply not built that way. All they want to do is sprint into action, and if they have to wait any longer they're going to go crazy with idleness and anxiety. Plus, Alexander is sick and tired of being left on the sidelines. He's come to expect it of his boss, but having his friends do the same to him is just cruel. Not to mention unfair.

For half an hour or so, they keep themselves busy scouting around for Lafayette, or at least for some evidence that he was there at some point. They don't find anything. They retrace their steps almost to the van – still nothing. It's disheartening. Not that Alexander was really hoping to stumble across a hidden clue that would help them save Laf, but as long as he pretended it was a possibility he had something to keep his mind busy.

And Laurens'.

"Was it true?" he asks all of a sudden. They've been silent for most of the time, both to avoid getting caught in case someone's still looking for them and because they're too worried about Laf to talk about anything else, so his voice startles Alexander. "What you wrote about treatment centers... about being sent back. Was it all true?"

And shit, Alexander did not need to be reminded of that. The atrocities he heard about and lived through himself, the shells of men and women he interviewed for his piece are the last thing he wants to think about. Laurens can ask him all the questions he wants when they find Lafayette and he's safe and they're all out drinking again.

"No," he says, honestly. "It's worse."

They're standing in the alley Mulligan led them into after they saw the cops, and it's probably too dark for Laurens to see past his own nose but Alexander can easily make out his friend's features, the way the light in his eyes seems to die just a little as he nods in understanding. "Worse how?"

"Laurens, I don't think this is the best..." Alexander starts protesting. Then he meets his friend's eyes and sighs. "Treatment centers are for healing,” he explains. “The doctors there, most of them are genuinely trying to help. They don't always succeed because they're usually short-staffed and even the more experienced know close to nothing about Partially Deceased Syndrome, but at least their intentions are good." It took him a long time to convince himself of it. Some days, when the flashbacks are particularly bad, he still doesn't believe it. Still, he'd rather relive his experience at the treatment center a hundred times than spend a single week there as a non-compliant. "When they send you back, it's over. You had your chance to make amends and you blew it, so they don't care about healing you anymore. It's not about helping you get better, it's about teaching you a lesson – and ideally get some research out of it."

"In your article you said they use shock therapy and all that shit on non-compliants 'cause they're still looking for a way to cure them," Laurens points out. "Was it a lie?"

"Yeah," Alexander admits, looking down. "The publisher wouldn't accept it otherwise. I tried to change their minds, but they wouldn't listen and in the end I thought it'd be better to tell one lie and spread a lot of real information than to ignore the matter altogether." He also needed the money, desperately, but he isn't going to mention that to Laurens.

"So that's what they're going to do to Laf?" Laurens presses on, voice getting more and more broken. "Shock him, gas him, cut him open? Plus all that terrible therapy that just makes PDS sufferers hate themselves?"

Alexander wants to reassure him, but he can't lie to him. So he tries to ease his mind the only way he can think of. "Only if they send him back."

Yep. He's so desperate that he's resorting to hopeless hoping.

"You think they won't?" Laurens asks, sounding both skeptical and willing to believe anything Alexander will say as long as it's better than reality.

"I don't know what to think," Alexander confesses, and sighs. He wants to cry but he can't. He wants to make Laurens feel better and he can't do that either. He wants to... "I need a drink," he decides.

Laurens snorts. "I need a dozen."

"Yeah, good thinking."

If they can't do anything to help, they deserve to get spectacularly smashed. Enough to forget how useless they feel, at least. Alexander is supposed to wake up and go to work in just over three hours, but for the first time since he started he doesn't think he's going to show.

Of unspoken accord, they head back home. 3 AM is a pretty unfortunate hour to start looking for a club even in Manhattan, and besides, neither of them is in the mood to party. Sometimes you just need to drink on your own.

"We're out of booze," Laurens announces after checking the cabinet. "Of course."

"You're kidding!"

Laurens raises up a bottle of PDS-friendly baileys. There can't be more than half a glass of liquid left. "This is all we have."

Alexander is this close to conceding defeat to today and go to bed. Who knows, maybe tomorrow will be more merciful. "That Pakistani place on Mercer Street stays open all night, right?" he checks instead.

"Only on weekdays," Laurens supplies.

Alexander frowns. "It is a weekday. It's Tuesday."

"Right." Laurens closes the cabinet and sags against it. He hasn't looked so tired since he found out about Gal's terrorist activities. "Do we really need booze?"

"Honestly? I don't know how we're going to get through tonight without it," Alexander counters. He feels weird saying it. Isn't it usually the other way round? Laurens threatening to drink the bar dry while Alexander stays painfully sober and does his best to keep him in check? This seems surreal. It could be a good thing, though, it could mean tonight is all a dream. If that's the case, he'd like to wake up soon. Like, right now soon.

"Right."

Alexander is starting to get worried. "Is something wrong, Laurens? I mean, besides the obvious."

He shakes his head. "Nah, sorry. I'm just tired. I... really don't feel like going out again."

Oh. Well, at least that problem can be solved easily. "How about I go, and you wait for me here?" Alexander suggests. "Would that be okay?"

"Of course." A smile, weak but genuine. "You're the best, man."

"I do what I can."

He tries calling Angelica when he's alone. She doesn't reply, the traitor, but within a minute he gets a text from her that says, _Still no news. Waiting for Mulls' friend to work her magic_.

He replies with a _Thanks, keep me posted_ , and goes hunting for some alcohol.

The Pakistani guy doesn't disappoint. Five minutes later, Alexander leaves the place with a bottle of Jameson, aka Laurens' poison, a few assorted beers and two cartons of PDS stuff. It's the only one they had – the cheap, especially horrible brand, the only one he could afford when he was new in town and nobody would employ him. Before he met the others. Before Laf offered him a place to stay and helped him find a job. God, he really did help Alexander turn his life around. Did he ever thank him for it? More importantly, will he ever get a chance to?

That's when it hits him. Lafayette is gone. Really gone. It doesn't matter whether he was simply arrested or the police took him out and his body is going to turn up in a ditch within the week, they've lost him. No more breakfast with him and Laurens, no more trying to keep up with him on the dance floor, no more hearing him bicker with Mulligan about the dumbest things. No more turning to him for advice, no more comforting words when they need to hear them.

Alexander has to stop and close his eyes. He tries to picture his friend – tall and strong, smiling brightly at whatever crap Alexander has just said. The infectious waterfall of his laugh. The French cadence he never even tried to lose. He breathes a sigh of relief – at least he hasn't lost the memory of him yet. How long before that happens, though? How long before the only images of Lafayette he can recall are from pictures? How long before he forgets the sound of his voice?

If he were still alive, this would be the part where he breaks down, starts sobbing and shaking in the middle of the street. Cry in the dark until he's let it all out and can go back to be a functioning, albeit damaged, person. He's not alive, though, so all he can do is suck it up and start walking faster. The sooner he gets home, the sooner he can start getting drunk.

The kitchen-slash-living room area is empty when Alexander steps into the apartment, so he tries to be as quiet as he can. He's been gone for over twenty minutes – he doesn't want to wake Laurens up if he somehow managed to fall asleep while he was waiting for him. Well, he does, because he'd much rather drink with him than be alone all night, but he knows it wouldn't be fair.

He carefully sets his shopping back on the counter, gets the Jameson and PDS liquor out and heads for his room. Only a small light is on, the one Laurens uses when he's up late studying and he doesn't want to disturb Alexander. Laurens is indeed in his bed, but he isn't sleeping nor reading, he's just sitting there and he's...

Alexander almost drops the bottle. "Oh _fuck_ no." No no no no no. Please. Not this one too.

He can't quite see what Laurens is holding in his hand. The dark streaks on his arm, though, are pretty unmistakeable.

Laurens looks up, sees him. "It's okay, I..." he starts explaining, but Alexander doesn't want to hear it.

He rushes to his friend's side, panic pushing words out of his mouth at 100 mph. "It's not okay, Laurens, god, you told me you were doing better, you can't..."

He stops. He grabbed Laurens' arm, wanting to see how bad the damage was, to stop the bleeding, _do something_ , but the second he touches it he realizes it's not slippery with blood. At all. There are no fresh cuts on it – the lines he saw are drawn in pen. Curves and spirals and ivy leaves. A paper crane and the moon.

"Oh thank god," Alexander breathes out, sagging against the wall behind Laurens' bed. He throws daggers at him. "You scared the living hell out of me."

Laurens meets his eyes and smiles. "I'm sorry. I was trying to calm down and, well, this helps a bit."

"Drawing on your arms?"

Laurens nods. "It's self-harmer 101. If you can't stop thinking about cutting yourself, you can try and do this instead. I've always loved doodling so it works miracles for me."

ìIt's fascinating and Alexander would love to learn more about it, but right now there's one piece of information he just can't overlook. "Wait. So when I left you here, you wanted to cut yourself?"

Laurens doesn't look at him this time, suddenly focused on the drawings on his arm again. "Bad," he admits, shameful. "That's why I didn't want to come with you. I couldn't wait for you to leave so I could be alone and do it." He presses the pen a little more forcefully against his skin, but his tone remains unchanged. "It hasn't been this bad in years, I swear. Not even when Gal disappeared. But now, now all of a sudden I feel so useless and helpless and out of control and all I want to do is hurt myself. Just to stop feeling like this for a second, you know? Just to feel some other way for a change." He sneers and sits back, shoulder to shoulder with Alexander. "God, I'm so fucking weak."

"You're not," Alexander protests. "You didn't do it, did you?"

"Not this time," Laurens recognizes. "But what about tomorrow? And all the times after then? I can't keep going like this, Alexander, I'm so tired. I'm so tired of living with my shit brain. It's the reason I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself while I should be focusing on Laf, it's the reason I keep hurting you..."

"Me? Don't drag me into this. I already told you I like you as you are."

Laurens raises an eyebrow at him. "I thought I was the biggest jerk ever? That nobody could put up with me for longer than a week?"

Did Alexander really say that? Right now, he feels like _he's_ the biggest jerk ever. "Come on, you know I didn't mean it," he tries to patch things up. He takes Laurens' hand in his, the one he didn't draw on, and starts running his thumb across it, as comforting a gesture as he can. "I was just mad."

Laurens relaxes against him, but doesn't seem so willing to let him win the argument yet. "Rightfully so. I'm not an idiot, I know this isn't enough for you. You should be in a real relationship, not waste your energy with this dysfunctional mess you and I have."

"It's not all bad," Alexander protests.

Laurens smiles sadly at him. "It's not," he admits. "But it's bad enough. You want something real and I'm not in the place to promise anything to anyone, and there's no working around that."

Alexander huffs. "Well, that solves the mystery, at least."

"What mystery?"

"Of your aversion to relationships," Alexander clarifies. "It's more reassuring than believing you think you're too young to content yourself with just me."

"Right. Sorry about that." Laurens looks up, the curve of his neck a dark silhouette against the dim light coming from the table lamp. "Truth is, I'm not ready. I'm... I'm lost, you know? Every day I wake up, and I don't know what it's going to be like. I could get through it just fine, or I could feel detached from it all, or the smallest thing could send me spiraling until I just want to stop existing, and the worst part is, I'm not going to have control over any of it. It's a fucking shit show. What I can do, though, is try and not get anyone else too involved in it." He looks at Alexander again, and his eyes go soft. For a second it seems like he's about to say something else, but he must think better of it because he bites his lip and looks down, back to his hands. "So that's why I don't date," he murmurs instead. "I just don’t feel like I’m a position to make any long-term commitments.”

"I'm not asking you to," Alexander clarifies, even though Laurens didn't ask. He's tired, and terrified of losing Laurens, and for some reason he can't stop feeling like things would be much easier if Lafayette were here. Which is ridiculous – he never went to Laf for relationship advice. Not on purpose, at least. Maybe that's why he's doing so terribly. "I'm fine with the way things were."

Laurens laughs, short and sarcastic. " _Right_."

"Okay, it's not ideal," Alexander admits. "I would like to have more with you, of course, 'cause you're awesome and I think I like you more than I've ever liked anyone else, but at least now I understand why you're acting the way you are. And I... I think I'm okay with it. For now."

"Are you sure?" Laurens asks, eyes big with worry. "'cause I really really don't want to fight with you again. It was awful."

"Yeah, I know." Alexander tucks a strand of Laurens’ hair behind his ear and kisses him on the temple, a comforting gesture for the both of them. "It's not gonna happen, promise."

Laurens doesn't reply, letting his eyes flutter close instead and leaning into Alexander's touch. Alexander takes it as the invitation it is to keep going. He kisses his friend's eyelids, his cheeks, his mouth the softest brush against them, before finally getting to his lips. He was going for something light and quick, no more than a peck, but the second their lips touch Laurens starts pulling him closer, climbing into his lap to kiss him with everything he's got.

Alexander is more than happy to reciprocate. They both need to regroup, to have their brains shut off if only for a few hours, and having mind-blowing sex is actually a much healthier way to do it than drinking until they pass out. Though who knows, they might need to resort to that too later.

They've just taken each other's shirts off when Alexander's phone starts buzzing, and they both freeze on the spot. 4 AM seems like an appropriate time to finally get an update on the Laf situation.

"Have you found him? How is he?" Alexander starts bombarding Angelica with questions before he even answers the call properly. 

"They won't let us see him. Only Agent Lei was allowed inside – that's Mulligan's friend. She talked to him, said he's doing well all things considered," she replies. Even distorted by the phone's speakers, her voice sounds a perfect mix of distraught and pissed off, and Alexander can easily guess what's coming next. "They're shipping him to the treatment center in Albany first thing in the morning."

"No," Laurens exclaims. "No, they can't do that!"

Alexander feels sick. "Just like that? They're not even giving him a chance to defend himself?"

"What, like a lawyer?" Angelica asks, desolate. "He's PDS, and they caught him red-handed. While he was engaged in disruptive activity, no less. That makes him a non-compliant, and non-compliants don't get a trial, they get involuntary treatment.”

"Seriously?" Laurens explodes. "He's a person! A fucking amazing one at that. He has rights, he..."

"No, she's right," Alexander interrupts him. He wants to throw up, but he isn't sure his legs can carry him all the way to the communal bathroom right now. Why the hell does it have to be that far? "He's PDS. He's going back."

Laurens shakes his head, a thin veil of tears covering his eyes. "This is so fucked up."

"Yeah," Alexander agrees, hugging his friend to his side. He strokes Laurens' hair, his arms, as he sobs against his chest. He wishes he could be the one who's allowed to break down for once.

It's too late for that now, though. The time to feel helpless, to hide under the covers and cry, came to an end the second they learned about Lafayette's fate. Bad news is better than no news – it means you can finally stop waiting for the universe to rain shit on you and start rebuilding. Maybe even fight back.

"We'll get him back," Alexander promises – to Laurens, to Angelica, to Mulligan. To Lafayette and to himself. Things might look hopeless, but as his life history may show, that's exactly when he thrives. "We're going to campaign until he's free. I don't even give a shit anymore. We're going to raise hell, and we're going to get him back."

He almost can't wait to get to work.


	23. In which Alexander is moved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guuuuyyys I'm so sorry about the delay D: I don't want to bore you with personal details so just know that I'm super-busy these days, but I'm going to have more free time very soon so hopefully this won't happen again in the near future. Also thanks to the aforementioned business I haven't been able to re-read this chapter my usual eight-hundred times, so I apologize for any typos.
> 
> Beware mentions of sexual abuse and suicidal thoughts.

The first day of spring finds Alexander back at the Archive in the late morning, something he hasn't been able to do since he started working for Washington. Looking back, he kinda misses those days – he might have been unemployed and struggling to make ends meet, but things were good nonetheless. He got to spend his mornings with Angelica and his nights out with his friends. He had all the time in the world to write. Lafayette was safe with them, not languishing in a treatment center miles away.

Or maybe it's just time coloring the past with the embellishing tints of nostalgia, and things have always sucked.

Alexander takes a sip of his coffee. His client (well, potential client, Alexander still has to make up his mind about it) is late, something he didn't expect of a friend of Burr's. He wanted to meet her and hear her side of the story before deciding whether to take the case; it's her one chance to win Alexander over to her side, and she isn't playing it well.

"Still nothing?" Angelica inquires as she pours him a refill.

Alexander shakes his head. "If she doesn't show in the next five minutes, I'm out. But check this out," he changes the subject, spinning his phone around so that Angelica can take a look at the article he was reading.

“ _Albany Treatment Center Might Face Inquiry Into Inhuman Treatment_ ," she reads out loud. " _Governor Adams promised to look into allegations that the facility would be resorting to torture after 'Free Lafayette_ ' _campaign brought public attention to the issue._ Okay, but it says _might_ , which means they're probably not gonna do it. And even if they do run an inquiry, do you really think it's going to change anything? Someone's just gonna get paid off, they're going to add a couple of regulations to make it look like they're keeping an eye on things, and that'll be the end of it."

"Don't be a downer," Alexander complains. "I already got Laurens for that. Look, I know it's a small step but at least it's in the right direction. It's been a month, and we're on the Times. We're making noise."

"You're right," Angelica admits, and sighs. "I just wish it were a quicker process. Every day that goes by is one more day Lafayette spends in that place and not here."

"I know." Alexander takes his phone back and locks it. One month Lafayette has been locked away, and Alexander has been imagining a different torture for him every day. He’s seen his friend in the dark, all alone save for the wailing coming from the cells next to his and the voices of his captors recounting every bad thing he did as a rabid – it doesn’t matter if they’re true or not, after a while you’d let them convince you of anything. He’s seen him beaten, burned, shocked, half punishment, half cruel experiment.

It's a sick exercise, and it takes him a long time to be okay again every time he does it, but he can't seem to stop. He knows if he does he's going to forget how much his friend is suffering, he's going to relax and let even more time pass, and Lafayette deserves better than that.

"So how is Laurens?" Angelica asks.

"Restless." He's also been having crazy mood swings again, but Angelica already knows that – which is probably why she asked after him in the first place. "He doesn't think things are moving fast enough either. And he's right, of course, but I don't know what else we can do."

"We'll figure something out," Angelica reassures him. "And even if we don't, we're still going to get him out of there. It'll just take longer, but he _will_ be back."

"Damn right." Alexander takes a sip of his coffee, asks: "How about you? Any news from Church?" 

"Not since I tore him a new one on the phone the other day," she replies, turning up her nose in annoyance. "Not only is he too spineless to stick around now that the going's rough, he doesn't even have the guts to talk to me about it."

"Well, that could be a good thing. Maybe he's too much of a wuss to actually sell his share of the bar."

"Mm. Maybe."

"And," Alexander carries on, "even if he does sell, it doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. You could find yourself with a much better partner."

"Don't know about that. I quite like the arrangement Church and I have – I manage the bar, he stays out of my hair, and we split the earnings at the end of the month." She crosses her arms and leans against one of the pillars behind the counter. "I'm used to doing things my way. Anything else would be a nightmare."

"I hear you," Alexander says, "but consider this: Church sells to a gorgeous woman who actually _cares_ about the place, does shifts, or at least shows up for a drink from time to time, and is totally into you."

"Ha ha ha," Angelica dismisses him. "Sorry to ruin it for you, but I'd never date a co-worker. This is my place, I'm not going to invite in relationship drama."

"Is that why you've never brought one of your girlfriends around?" Alexander wants to know.

"No, that's because I'm ashamed of you guys," she teases.

He can only feign outrage for a second. "That's... fair, actually."

She grins at him, her cheekbones looking even sharper as she does. Then her eyes stray behind Alexander and her eyebrows shoot up. "Speaking of gorgeous women," she mutters, leaning forward on the counter. "Hot damn."

Alexander turns to see the beautiful stranger... and stops. The girl that just came in, he's seen her already. It only takes him a second to figure out where.

She was at WinterShow with Burr.

The girl must recognize him too, because she lights up when their eyes meet and she comes straight to the bar. "Alexander!" she greets him. "Lovely to see you again."

"You too," Alexander replies, unable to tear his eyes away from her. She's wearing a red blouse with just the right amount of cleavage and a black skirt that perfectly showcases her long smooth legs. The golden hue of her skin looks even more alluring in the daylight.

She's perfectly aware of the effect she's having on him, she must be, but save from the hint of a knowing smirk at the corner of her crimson lips, she doesn't comment on it.

"Sorry I'm so late," she apologizes, sitting on the stool next to Alexander's. "I had the brilliant idea to take the new PDS subway line they opened last week. Has any of you tried it yet?" She looks around, at Angelica and the two guys sitting a couple of stools over that seem to be as entranced with her as Alexander, but before anyone can put in their two cents she carries on: "Well, don't. Not unless you want to waste a whole day in a banged-up car packed with people that smell funky even by New York subway standards. I only made it through two stops before I fled and walked the rest of the way, and of course that took longer than I had anticipated."

"It's okay," Alexander reassures her. Then, remembering something: "Nothing wrong with being fashionably late, right?"

She looks at him in confusion for a split second before bursting into laughter. "Right!" She steals a gulp of his coffee, and who is Alexander to protest? "I like you already, Alexander. You're a smart guy and a good listener – just the kind of lawyer I want fighting in my corner."

"Thank you," Alexander says. "I'm guessing you're Maria Reynolds, then? I didn't catch your name at the show."

"Just Maria, please. In the flesh-eating flesh." She winks at him before turning to Angelica. “ _Chica_ , my friend Aaron told me you make the best PDS coffee in the city and he wasn't lying. Would you be so kind as to make me a cup, and another one as soon as I finish it? I’m not getting through today without caffeine.“

"Sure thing," Angelica accepts, giving her a nod before busying herself with the coffee machine. Either she's trying to play it cool or Maria's manners have rubbed her the wrong way, because if the way she's turning her back to them is any indication, she doesn't want any part in Alexander's conversation with his client. Potential client.

Of course, she could just as easily be giving them space to discuss the case. Which is what Alexander should be doing instead of flirting.

"So," he cuts to the chase. "Burr has mentioned something to me about your case, but I don't really know a lot. How about we go over it together and I see what I can do to help?"

She nods, but doesn't look too excited about the prospect. In fact, for the first time since she made her appearance she seems hesitant.

"Is everything alright?" Alexander checks.

"Yeah," she replies quickly. "Yeah, it's fine." She purses her lips. "Would you mind taking the conversation to one of the booths, though? It's... kind of private business.”

"Of course," Alexander agrees readily, standing up. He grabs both their cups of coffee and takes them to the most private booth, the one in the far corner.

Maria relaxes visibly when they get there. "Now that's more like it," she approves, taking a seat. She sets her purse on the cushion next to hers and starts rummaging through it. Before Alexander can ask what she's looking for, she produces a large envelope marked _Beckley_. "Have a look, honey," she invites, handing it to Alexander.

There's pictures inside. Almost two dozens of them, all displaying the same shot of some shabby motel – it clearly shows the sign, which reads _Triton_ , and one of the windows.

That's where things get interesting. In the first couple of pictures, Maria is easily distinguishable through the window, standing next to it without looking out. Her attention is focused on something in the room. Next are a few shots of her taking her clothes off – coat, blouse, skirt – until she's standing behind the window in nothing but a lacy crimson bra and matching panties. She looks stunning, skin soft and radiant, dark curls out of place just enough to give her a wild, seducing appearance. Alexander is a professional, though, so instead of getting distracted by it he notices that the shot is too good, too clean. He can’t help suspecting Maria didn’t end up in that room by accident.

A few picture later, the woman is joined by some guy. He's older than her, well over his forties, and still fully clothed in a gray suit. They kiss for a couple of shots, his hands holding her possessively. She takes his suit jacket off. He squeezes her ass.

The last shots show Maria facing the window as she's closing the shutters to finally give herself and the man some privacy. In two of them she's looking straight into the camera, her pinprick eyes unmistakably revealing her as PDS.

Well then. Alexander wasn't sure what to expect when Burr told him a friend of his needed help, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

He quickly goes through the images again, trying to put all the pieces together. "So you and this guy had an affair." It's not a question – that much looks pretty clear. Alexander is still missing most of the story, though, before and after the little glimpse into it he’s getting from the pictures.

"He's a manager at my modeling agency," Maria reveals. "And we didn't... well, I guess we did have an affair, but it wasn't how you think."

"Burr told me this was an extortion case," Alexander cuts it short. He doesn't need to know the extent of her sentimental involvement with her boss, he just needs to shed some light on the information he already has. "That you and your husband are implicated."

Maria looks down, at the pictures in Alexander's hands. "Yeah. He's the one who took those."

"Oh." Things are starting to make sense. "Alright, let me guess. You started sleeping with your boss and decided to make some money out of it. Maybe it started naturally and you only came up with the plan once you got bored, maybe you went and seduced him on purpose, doesn't really matter – point is, you take him to this motel and make sure you kiss him right in front of the window so that your husband can take a clear shot of the guy getting comfortable with you. He's married, right? Old enough to have kids, too. How much did you ask for not circulating these pictures?"

“Fifteen thousand," Maria answers with no trace of hesitation or remorse. "He can afford it, believe me. Besides, he wasn't just cheating on his wife with a client. He was getting frisky with a dead whore. You'd be surprised at how concerned living men in high positions are in keeping these kinds of kinks quiet."

Alexander gets it, he really does, but at the same time he doesn't. "Awesome, so you stuck it to the man. What do you expect me to do about it?"

She shrugs. "How am I supposed to know? You're the one who went to law school and's all smart and shit. I'm sure you can come up with a plan on your own."

"Of course I can," Alexander confirms, peeved. "I'm just not sure I want to."

Indignation flashes in Maria's eyes. Indignation and a hint of fear. "What do you mean you don’t want to?”

Alexander runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Look, Burr told me you needed help. Made a case for you, told me you had a right to be represented by a good lawyer even though you're PDS."

"And you don't believe that?"

"Of course I do! But you're guilty. We both agree on that, right? You did try to blackmail that guy."

"Yes," Maria admits, and she doesn't sound so bold anymore.

Alexander can't really bring himself to feel for her. "Okay then, tell me. Why should I go against my bosses' wishes and work for free to help you? When you're not even the innocent victim Burr said you were, but just someone who tried to be clever and ended up getting served? You really think I should help you out of… what, undead solidarity?”

For the longest time Maria just looks at him, mouth slightly open, eyes wide with outrage. Alexander couldn't tell whether she's about to cry or to start yelling at him. Then: "Wow. You're mean, and a terrible lawyer."

That was just uncalled for. "I'm an incredible lawyer, actually," Alexander defends himself. "And I'm not mean, I'm just being level with you."

"No, you are terrible," she insists. Her voice is starting to break now, and she's gathering her things so Alexander is sure she's going to storm off. She doesn't. "You want a sob story, is that it? Want to feel like the knight in shining armor coming to the poor maid's rescue?"

"I don't..." he starts saying, but she doesn't let him continue.

"Well, then you should have just said that from the beginning. Come with me."

He isn't sure he wants to, but it soon turns out it isn't exactly his choice. Maria grabs him by the hand and drags him to the ladies' room. There's no one inside, because mornings at the Archive are pretty dead and it's not like a PDS club has much use for restrooms anyway – except maybe as hideouts for couples that want to get a little too physical for the bar area. On most days, Alexander is pretty fond of the fact, but today he kinda wishes someone else was around 'cause Maria is giving him some seriously weird vibes.

She finally lets go of Alexander's hand and locks the door, which was expected but still doesn't bode too well for Alexander. Then she takes her blouse off and tosses it to the floor.

"You really don't need to do this," Alexander says, his eyes dropping to her breasts even as he's trying to turn her down. Red bra again, but with no frills this time. "I'm already taken, at least sort of, and even if I weren't, I don't think this is the right way to..."

He stops when he notices Maria isn't paying attention to him. At all. In fact, she walks straight past him and heads for the sinks. She grabs a paper towel there, dampens it, and starts scrubbing her skin with it – neck, shoulders, chest. It doesn't take long for her real flesh to emerge underneath the makeup, and as much as he doesn't want to, Alexander can't help the feeling of sympathy that washes over him when he sees it.

She's covered in bruises. Some are already yellow and fading, which means they must have been there a long time – months, maybe longer, considering how long it takes before partially deceased skin even starts to regenerate. Others are darker, angrier, fresh. Alexander thinks of his own bruises, well hidden under his suit, of how the cops beat on him at the protest and wouldn't stop, and feels a knot in his stomach.

"He did this to me," Maria tells him, looking down at her own body rather than at him. "Beckley, the guy who's suing us." She runs her finger over one of the older marks, a bruise on her side almost the size of Alexander's fist. "Wanna know how it started between us? Whether it was _natural_ or I seduced him?"

"Maria, I'm..."

"Neither, actually. I screwed up on the catwalk one day and he called me up to his office, told me we'd go over it together. Ten minutes later he was forcing himself on me." She tightens her fist around the soaked paper towel, and brownish water starts dripping down her wrist. She doesn't seem to notice. "He raped me every other day for months. Said I shouldn't complain, I couldn't feel pain so what was the big deal really? But he liked it if I screamed. He liked to beat me, just to see me fall down. Just to see how much he could ruin my body without actually destroying it." She looks at Alexander then, and she couldn't look more pitiful if she were pulling her own hair and crying her eyes out. "So yes, I pretended to be okay with it and tried to extort money from him at the first chance. Judge me all you want for it. But you know what? However this case ends, at least I'll be able to say I exposed that monster for what he really is. And it's gonna be worth being locked away for the rest of eternity, or even sent back to a treatment center and tortured like they say on the news, if I get to spare the next unlucky girl from going through what I went through."

There's something fierce in her eyes as she ends her speech, and for a moment Alexander sees his mother in them. Her heartbroken determination the day the man she loved walked out the door for good and left her alone with their 10-year-old son to raise. He rushes to Maria's side.

"I'm sorry," he says, resting a comforting hand on her back. He makes sure she has all the room in the world to recoil, but she doesn't, shifting closer to him instead. “God, I was such an idiot. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He thinks about Lafayette and shudders. “Of course you don’t deserve to be punished – especially not the way they punish people like us. I’m going to help you, okay? We're going to bring him down."

Maria smiles at him, eyes still deep with sadness. "Already done that, sweetheart. What I need now is for you to make sure their lawyers content themselves with sending me to jail for a few years and not to the treatment center."

"I can do more than that," he promises. "I'm going to get all the charges dismissed, make sure you walk free. Your husband too."

"And how are you planning on doing that?" Her tone says she doesn't believe him, but her eyes betray how much she wants to. 

Alexander bites his lip. "I don't know," he admits. "But like I told you, I'm an incredible lawyer. I'll come up with something."

 

"Just like that? You work for her now?"

Laurens' back is turned, but his tone is more than enough to convey how unimpressed he is by Alexander's recount of his meeting with Maria Reynolds. Which is pretty fucking unfair, if you ask Alexander. Seems like no matter what he does, someone's going to give him hell about it.

"You should have seen her, man," he starts making a case for himself. He's sitting on the couch, his arm resting on the back and his head turned so that he can look at Laurens while he busies himself with the coffee machine in the kitchen island. "What she's been through... God, I don’t even want to think about it. And it's not like she has anyone else to turn to. I'm her only hope to get some justice."

Laurens turns to look at him and grins. "I knew it."

Alexander squints. He's naturally suspicious of his friend's amusement, because it tends to come at his expenses. "Knew what?"

"That she must have taken advantage of your pride," Laurens clarifies. "You're her hero now, and that's worth more to you than any pecuniary compensation."

"That's not true."

"It is. Face it, you might like to think you're this lone ranger who doesn't care what the others think of him as long as he can make justice prevail, but really, you're a total slut for people's approval."

Alexander's hands are itching to throw something at Laurens. His roommate is currently in the process of walking to him with two mugs full of coffee, though, and he's not so outraged that he'll risk spilling the delicious beverage. Retaliation will just have to wait.

"Sure, I live to make people happy. That’s why I’m so popular with the masses,” he comments instead, sarcastic.

“Didn’t say you were any good at it.”

“Now you’re just asking to be punched in the face.” Alexander frowns. “I thought you'd be proud of me, anyway. For helping out a PDS woman who deserved better."

"I am," Laurens admits, leaning down to kiss him affectionately. He hands Alexander his own cup, then, and sits with him. "You know I'm just teasing, right? I do think you're doing the right thing."

Alexander puts his free arm around his shoulders and draws him closer, until Laurens is leaning against him, his head on Alexander's chest. “Yeah, I know."

"Good." He takes a sip of his coffee. "And what did the bosses say about it?"

Alexander shrugs. "They're not exactly on board, but they agreed to let me take on the case as long as it doesn't interfere with my other work."

Laurens smirks. "You got 'em all wrapped around your finger, don’t you?“

It's a pretty gratifying suggestion, and Alexander can't help smiling in satisfaction at it. He strokes Laurens' shoulder with his thumb. "Well, I'm the only decent lawyer they've met in their lives," he points out. "They must know it's in their best interest to keep in my good graces. Besides, a client's always a client, no matter how little money she can afford to give us."

"You're a blessing to this world," Laurens tells him, and Alexander is sure he's teasing, that would sound cheesy coming from a normal person, let alone someone like Laurens, but he has no time to come up with a response because Laurens cranes his neck up to kiss him and that's a really valid alternative to starting to bicker with him again.

Unfortunately, that's the moment Mulligan chooses to come back home from his classes.

"Guys, come on!" he grumbles, tossing the keys in the bowl on the kitchen counter and dropping his bag to the floor. "I thought we agreed that the communal spaces must be kept clean."

Alexander and Laurens roll their eyes at the exact same time and share a proud smile.

"Relax man, it was just innocent, totally harmless kissing," Laurens reassures him. "Unless you're implying we're tainting your precious couch with our gayness?"

"What I'm _implying_ ," Mulligan shoots back, unceremoniously pushing Laurens' legs away to make room for himself on the couch, "is that I don't need to get home after a long day to find you two getting it on in the place I eat. You got a room, use it."

"Trust me, we do," Alexander says, winking.

Laurens laughs and offers him his fist to bump. Mulligan makes a face.

"Wanna know what really pisses me off? This is all Lafayette's fault, and _I'm_ the only one who's here to pay the consequences," he muses. He shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position on the couch. “Speaking of which, has any of you read the Times article yet?"

"I retweeted it. Don't you ever check my tweets?" Alexander reproaches him.

"Not constantly. I have more important things to do than witness your daily abuse of Charles Lee."

"Actually, he blocked me a couple weeks ago," Alexander reveals. "You'd know it, if you ever read what I tweet."

The news comes at a surprise to Laurens, as well. "For real? I was wondering why you didn't destroy him for what he said about the PDS subway lines."

"Well. If I'm being completely honest, I... might have created a new account just to pick a fight with him about that."

Laurens' eyes light up with excitement. "Hold on a second. Are you telling me you're @TravelingCharon?”

Alexander wiggles his eyebrows and grins.

"God, Hams," Laurens says, and he sounds genuinely impressed. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any hotter."

"You're welcome." Alexander takes a second to gloat before going back to the main point. "Anyway, and I'm recapping for the snobs that think they're too good for my tweets here, the article's great news for the cause. I don't trust Adams as far as I can throw him, but even if his promise to run an inquiry is just for show, someone must have pressured him into it."

"Yeah," Mulligan agrees. "Public opinion seems to be on our side, for once."

"Which is all good and well if you believe public opinion is going to be enough to get Laf out of there," Laurens interjects, "but you do know it's not, right? Our petition to have him released got nine-thousand signatures within the first 24 hours, and that was almost a month ago. It didn't change anything – Laf's still at the treatment center. He isn't even allowed visitations. I think it's safe to say no amount of public outrage is going to convince them to let him walk."

"That's the only weapon we have, though," Mulligan points out. "We stop campaigning, we might as well give up on getting Laf released for good."

Laurens still doesn't look convinced. He shakes his head. "I'm tellin' ya, we're deluding ourselves if we think that's gonna help."

"Okay, that's it," Alexander snaps, sitting up a little straighter. "Where's all this negativity coming from? You've always believed in campaigning. For crying out loud, I used to be the one teasing you about putting too much faith in humanity. And now you won't even give it a shot? What happened to you, man?"

He's not angry, he's disappointed, and that seems to hurt Laurens even more. He doesn't start yelling, nor does he leave the room in a dramatic display of outrage. Simply, as it's happening more and more often these days, he shuts down, avoiding eye contact and speaking in a feeble, numb voice that sounds all kinds of wrong coming out of his usually overeager mouth. "Guess I've finally opened my eyes" is all he offers.

"Hey," Alexander says, trying to look him in the eyes. "Hey. Don't do that. We can make a difference, you know that. Laf needs you, he needs all of us to..."

"I got in touch with the ULA."

"... stay hopeful and keep fighting for... You did _what_?" Alexander must have misheard. There's no way Laurens just said what he thinks he said. No fucking way.

"I got in touch with the ULA," Laurens repeats, still fixing the space in front of him with a vacant stare. "Asked them to do something about it."

Alexander has a sudden urge to slap him. As if that could bring back the hyperactive idealist his Laurens used to be and make what he just confessed not true.

Mulligan seems to be on the same page. "You better be joking, kid," he threatens. Alexander hasn't seen him this somber since the night Lafayette was taken.

"I'm not," Laurens says, and finally turns to face Mulligan. "You know who's joking? Adams, and all those fucking people in charge. They're toying with us. Making false promises and empty gestures to keep us quiet while they laugh behind our backs – like with the subway lines, that took ages to start running and nobody is using because they flat-out _suck_. And fine, let's close an eye on those, most PDS people have found ways to sneak on the regular lines anyway. But they're using the same tricks with Laf now, and I'm not going to stand by and hope while they decide my friend's fate. They don't want to hear us? We're going to have to make them, and the ULA knows how to do that."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Mulligan says through gritted teeth. "Jesus, you're as naive as you've ever been. Those people are not the cavalry, get that in your head. They're going to lie to you, manipulate you until they own you, and then use you for anything but the good of the PDS community."

"He's right. Look at what happened to Gal," Alexander reminds him.

It probably wasn't the right thing to say. "Don't talk about him," Laurens hisses.

"Alright. Alright, I'm sorry." Alexander takes his hand, and his friend instinctively relaxes into his touch. "Just, leave that alone. Please. For me?"

Laurens stiffens. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You don't get to emotionally blackmail me, you're not my fucking boyfriend," he spits, and Alexander knows that, he's come to terms with it a while ago, but the way Laurens says it, like it's a bad word, like Alexander is trying to brainwash him or something, still stings more than he'd like to admit.

"Yeah, I know," he counters, bitter. "Believe me, you've made that perfectly clear." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to remind himself that the only reason Laurens is acting this way is that he's terrified of what might be happening to Lafayette. They all are, and one way or another it's taking its toll on each and every one of them. "I'm still your friend, though. And I'm worried about you."

"And what about Laf, huh? You're not worried about him?" Laurens challenges him.

"Of course I am! And you might think you're helping him, but you're not. The ULA, you know it's bad people. They're not going to do anything good, and getting them involved is just going to make Laf look like he was in cahoots with terrorists."

Laurens still isn't convinced, but he doesn't have much of a case to make for himself. "You don't know that" is all he can argue against Alexander's point.

"We do," Mulligan steps in. "We've met those people. We know what they're like."

Actually, when they met those people they mostly looked like a bunch of innocuous hippies, but Laurens doesn't need to know that. "Seriously. Trust us, we'd have turned to them ages ago if we thought they could and would help," Alexander chimes in.

"Well, I've talked to them too, and I actually believe they _can_ help," Laurens insists.

"And you trust them over us?"

Laurens thinks about it. "I trust them over your judgement on this."

"Then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought," Mulligan decides.

"Mulligan, come on," Alexander tries to warn him, because as much as he agrees with him on the ULA issue, it's probably not the best idea to attack Laurens while he's in this state.

Unfortunately, his friend doesn't seem to get it. "Don't. Don't you fucking try and defend him. I'm tired of this," he says, standing up. "I'm tired of you constantly trying to fuck things up for everyone.”

“Fucking things up?” Laurens repeats, spiteful. “What things? You’re not doing anything, all you guys do is sit in front of a computer all day and complain about how unfair it all is. I’m the only one who’s trying…”

“ _You?_ Of course you’d say that,” Mulligan cuts him off. “When are you going to get it into that self-involved head of yours? This isn't about you, you privileged sack of shit, it's about Laf. Boohoo, things aren't moving fast enough and you're getting bored, let's try and make them more exciting by bringing terrorists into the picture. 'cause that's what it's all about, isn't it? The entitled living boy getting his fun."

"Yeah, you got me, that's exactly what it's about!" Laurens yells back. He stands up too, and for a moment Alexander thinks he's going to face him, that they're going to start throwing punches, but then Laurens starts heading for the door. "You know what, _I'm_ tired of this. Seems like you've got your mind made up about me from day one, so maybe I should just give up on changing it and get out of your way."

“And there he goes, once again running away from the uncomfortable truth. You know what, why don't you do us all a favor since you’re at it and move the hell out of here for good?“ Mulligan yells after him, but Laurens is already storming out.

"Mulligan, shut the fuck up," Alexander urges before rushing after Laurens. He knows his friend can’t be left alone right now. The stuff Mulligan told him would have been upsetting even to someone without his issues, and Alexander is terrified of what he might do. Besides, he's sure if they can just talk it out he can convince Laurens to cut all contact with the ULA.

He catches up with him at the bottom of the staircase, moments before he opens the front door.

"Wait, Laurens, let's talk," he pleads, grabbing his friend by the arm.

"I don't want to talk," Laurens protests. He turns away, but not before Alexander can spot the glint of unspilled tears at the corner of his eyes.

"Just listen, then," Alexander refuses to back down. He takes a deep breath. "Don't listen to Mulligan, alright? He's terrified for Laf and worried about you and the ULA and I guess the stress is finally catching up to him. But you must know he doesn't mean a single word he said."

"He does," Laurens insists. "He wouldn't keep saying that otherwise. And he's right, I'm a fucking hypocrite and a loser and..."

"Bullshit. You've been as helpful to the PDS cause as any of us," Alexander cuts him off. "You do matter, you have no idea how much you matter – and I'm not just talking about the big picture stuff." He should stop, he knows Laurens doesn't want to hear any of what he's about to say but Alexander can't help it. He's sick and tired of hearing him badmouth the best guy he knows. "You're the most important person in my life. And I know it might not sound like much coming from someone who didn't have a single friend four months ago, but to me it's everything. I lost my family, and my life, and what little rights I used to have so I thought nothing could scare me anymore, but when I think about losing you I'm more terrified than I've ever been. I still believe that we're going to kick prejudice in the ass and I'm going to do great things – I just can't do it without you, okay? Not anymore. So I'm not letting you go until you promise you're not going to do anything stupid."

Laurens tries to get out of his grip, but it's more for show than anything. "Don't you have to be at Eliza's in half an hour?"

"I do," Alexander admits. If Laurens thinks that's going to stop him, he’s in for some major disappointment. "And I'm taking you with me if need be."

"You wouldn't."

"Of course I would. Eliza is the best, she's not going to mind."

Laurens believes him – there's worry in his eyes, something close to desperation in the way he tries to pull his arm away. "Let me go!" he urges.

"Promise me you're not going to hurt yourself," Alexander replies, doing his best to stay calm.

"I can't!" Laurens cries out, and he stops struggling at once. "I can't, okay?" he repeats, his voice softer. "I don't have a fucking clue what I'm going to do."

Alexander pulls him into a hug. To his surprise, Laurens lets him, even holds onto him as tight as he can once he's in his arms. Alexander can see him shake, but couldn't quite tell if he's crying.

"You're coming with me tonight," he decides. "No way I'm leaving you alone."

His tone is indisputable, and strangely enough, that seems to actually calm Laurens down a bit. "You sure Eliza won't mind?" is all he asks.

"I'm sure," Alexander promises. He does see why his friend would be concerned, because he's pretty sure Laurens has been at least tipsy for a good 90% of the time he and Eliza have spent around each other. Still, if anyone has it in her heart to open her home to a hopeless, self-destructive drunk, that's Elizabeth Schuyler. "Just don't go setting anything on fire and you'll be fine. Trust me."


	24. In which Alexander takes a walk

As Alexander predicted, Eliza isn't bothered in the slightest by Laurens' presence. That's due in part to her being a cool, kind, amazing person, and in part to the fact that she's running late, so she's too busy worrying to pay much attention to the unexpected guest.

"I'm so sorry, Alexander," she says for what feels like the twelve-hundredth time. “I had to stay at the school after hours to talk to a kid’s parents, and it took longer than I’d anticipated. I just didn’t have time to get started on dinner.”

"Stop it. It's fine," Alexander assures. "I can make something while Philip watches The Flash. Isn't that right?"

"I guess." Philip doesn't look all that convinced. "But you're going to miss the episode."

"Then you'll have to watch it even more carefully than usual, so later you can tell me everything that's happened."

The kid nods, getting excited once again. "You got it, boss," he jokes before rushing to the couch. The show doesn't start for another five minutes or so, but Philip never wants to risk missing even the first few seconds. If they're not careful, he's going to turn out an even bigger nerd than Laurens.

"Okay, I should finally be ready to go," Eliza announces, grabbing her purse. "I have to run now but when I'm back we're discussing your payment, alright? No way you're watching Philip for free if I don't even offer you dinner."

"Well, technically, you're still paying for it. I’m just putting together all the stuff you bought,” Alexander points out.

"Don't even try it." Eliza turns to Philip, then. "Have a nice evening, Philly!"

"You too, Mom. Kisses!" he greets without leaving the couch.

Eliza smiles fondly to herself. "Tell me if you need anything, okay?" she reminds Alexander – she always does, even though by now she knows he's perfectly capable of handling the kid.

“Sure,” he promises, and kisses her on the cheek. “Say hi to the people who hate me.”

“Stop it, you know they adore you. You’re the one who’s too smart to mix up with them common folk.”

Alexander chuckles at that. “Let’s just say I’m more at ease around Philip.”

“Can’t say that I mind.” Eliza smiles. “See you later. You too, Laurens.”

She steps out and Alexander locks the door behind her. When he turns, Laurens is looking at him weird.

“What?” Alexander asks.

He shrugs. “I don’t know, I like your dynamic. You make a good team.”

Alexander frowns. What’s that even supposed to mean? “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“A little. But not in the way you think.”

“I’m not sure I like that answer.”

“Sorry,” Laurens says, but instead of elaborating he changes the subject. “Alright Philip, what would you like for dinner?" he asks. Right. Real life is happening – they can talk all they want later. Not that Alexander thinks Laurens will be more straightforward then.

The show has already started, so it takes Philip a few seconds to tear his concentration from it long enough to reply. "Uh... Mom was going to make hamburgers," he mentions.

"Hamburgers it is, then," Alexander agrees, walking to the kitchen. He's never cooked anything in it, unless he wants to count that one time he made tea for Eliza when she got back from the support group with a headache. Still, he finds everything he needs without effort. Eliza's system is pretty neat.

He has just finished setting everything on the counter and is about to start chopping the onions when Laurens anticipates him, grabbing the knife before Alexander has a chance to. 

"You go keep Philip company," he says. "I can take care of dinner. I'm a much better cook than you anyway."

That's... true, actually. It's a tempting offer, but after what's happened earlier it doesn't sit too well with Alexander. Laurens is here so Alexander can keep an eye on him, not so he can have easy access to sharp objects. "In your dreams. I'm not leaving you alone in here."

"What? Why wouldn't..." Laurens starts asking. Then he puts the pieces together, and his confusion turns into annoyance. "Seriously, you think I'd do something like that with a kid in the next room? What kind of person do you take me for?”

"I honestly have no idea," Alexander replies, maybe a little harsher than he intended. He takes a deep breath and starts talking in a softer voice. "I don't know how to handle this kind of stuff, okay? And it's not about you being a good or a bad person. I mean, I was sure my cousin was better than to shoot himself in the head right where he knew I'd be the first to find his body, but he wasn't in the end. It’s not like he was planning it, it just happened. And you... You told me yourself that you're not even sure what you might do."

Laurens' eyes went soft with sympathy at the mention of Peter's fate. When Alexander finishes talking, he sets the knife on the counter and takes both his hands. "I'm sure I'd never do anything like that to you," he reassures him. "I swear."

"On your autographed copy of _Half-Blood Prince_?” Alexander asks, his complicit smile betraying how not serious he's being. He already believes him.

Laurens smiles back. "On my entire collection of autographed Harry Potter books,” he ups the ante, and Alexander bursts out laughing.

" _Now_ I know you're lying," he quips, leaning forward for a quick kiss.

Laurens doesn't content himself with that. He chases Alexander's mouth when he makes for retreating, pulling him closer by the belt loops of his jeans, and Alexander doesn't put up any resistance – he knows he should, because Philip is in the next room and he's here to keep an eye on him, not to make out with his sex buddy all over Eliza's kitchen furniture, but pulling away seems harder than usual. As much as he wants to trust his friend, he still can't quite bring himself to let him out of his sight.

He's going to have to, though, because it's not like they can...

"Oh my God." Philip's voice brings them back to reality, as effective and chilling as a bucket of ice-cold water. They both turn to see him standing in the doorway, shocked. Shit. This was not supposed to happen. "I'm sorry, the commercials started and I wanted to remind you not to put pickles in the burgers 'cause I don't like them. I didn't mean to..." His voice fades.

"Right," Alexander replies. If Eliza finds out, she's going to be so disappointed in him. "No pickles. Got it." She's so gonna find out, Philip tells her everything.

"Great. Thanks." Philip looks between Alexander and Laurens for a few more long, awkward seconds, before making a hasty retreat.

" _Shit_ ," Alexander mutters.

Laurens bites his lip. "Sorry." He does sound apologetic, but there's a glint of amusement in his eyes that Alexander doesn't like one bit. This is a very serious situation, he should know better than to make light of it. To his credit, though, he does go on to say: “You should probably go talk to him, do some damage control."

"Yeah, I know," Alexander agrees. He starts walking to the living room, stops. Points his finger at Laurens. "Don't do anything dumb, are we clear?"

Laurens nods. “Go. I have everything under control here.”

Good enough. Alexander goes find Philip.

He finds him on his couch, distractedly looking at a car commercial. He only throws a sideways glance at Alexander when he comes to sit next to him.

"Hey." Alexander clears his throat. "Sorry you had to see that."

"It's okay," Philip lies, eyes still fixed on the TV screen. As if he gave a crap about CO2 emissions and interior space.

"You don't look okay," Alexander points out. Then, since Philip is still ignoring him: "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what? I'm twelve. I don’t need the kissing talk.”

“I didn’t say you need it. I just want to know why you look so upset.“

Finally, Philip looks at him, and for a moment Alexander thinks he's going to fess up. In the end, though, he just shrugs. "It's nothing. You can kiss anyone you like."

Yeah, no way he's getting off that easy. "Is it because Laurens and I are both guys?" Alexander wants to know. Or maybe he doesn't. He really hoped his days of arguing the issue with the kid were over – didn't Philip become something like his school's first unofficial protector of LGBT rights? Still, Alexander knows better than to think that means anything. It wouldn't be the first time he's met someone who's totally supportive of queer people on paper, but can't hide their disappointment when someone they actually know turns out to be a member of the community.

Philip shakes his head, though. "No, really, I know there's nothing wrong with that now."

"Then what's the matter?"

"You're going to think I'm stupid."

"Philip," Alexander says, solemn, "I think you're the most brilliant kid I've ever had the privilege to meet, and I can assure you that there's nothing you can do that would change my mind on that."

The boy looks up at him, pleased and shy at the same time, and Alexander can't help recalling the first time they met. "Really?"

"Really," Alexander confirms.

"You're not going to laugh at me?"

"I could never laugh at you."

He can see Philip's hesitation start to crumble, but there's still one matter to settle. "Okay then. But you have to promise not to tell anyone. And I mean _anyone_."

He's so serious that Alexander doesn't even have to think about it. "I won't," he accepts readily.

"I... thought you might like my mom," Philip finally confesses. "I wanted you to marry her and come live with us, so you'd be here all the time and she'd... You're laughing!" he exclaims, outraged. "You promised you wouldn't do that!"

"I'm not laughing, I'm just smiling!" Alexander protests.

"Yeah, because you think I'm ridiculous," Philip insists, burying his head in the cushion next to him in such a dramatic, teenagery way that Alexander really struggles to keep from laughing this time.

"I don't. I think it's super nice and sweet of you, okay?" he tells the boy. Or well, the boy’s back, since it’s all he gets to see at the moment. “You know, sometimes you don't smile because you heard something funny. Sometimes you smile because you're feeling a lot of good feelings and you're too overwhelmed to say anything."

It's not enough to convince Philip to come out of hiding, but the kid does turn his head a little so he can look at Alexander with one eye. "Is that how you're feeling now?" he asks, voice muffled by the cushion still pressed against his mouth.

"Yes," Alexander replies honestly. "You and your mom are the best, and just the idea of becoming a part of your family makes me more happy and honored than I could ever say."

"That's not happening, though," Philip reminds him. "Because you like Laurens, so you can't marry my mom."

It's actually more nuanced than that, but one could reduce it to that if need be.

"Yes," Alexander admits. It's easier than starting to explain about his own bisexuality and friends with benefits and mental issues, and besides, that kind of talk might get Philip's hopes up, only for him to be disappointed again real soon. Even if Laurens weren't in the picture, Alexander doubts he and Eliza would ever work.

Philip doesn't seem to appreciate his attempt at keeping it simple. "I knew it," he groans, his face disappearing into the cushion once again.

Alexander shifts a little closer to him. "Hey. You know I don't have to be married to your mom to care about you, right? I'm still going to be there for you any time you need me."

"Thanks," Philip says, but he still doesn't sound too convinced, and he still refuses to look up from the goddamn pillow.

Alexander doesn't despair. He sits there for a while, his hand resting gently on the boy's back, until slowly, and for no discernible reason, Philip sits back up.

"How do you know if you really love someone?" he asks, seemingly out of the blue.

Alexander scoffs. "Man. That's a good question." He's been sure he was in love so many times – seems like he's always the one who falls first and hardest in a relationship. An ex-girlfriend of his told him that that's the same as never being in love, because love is supposed to feel special. Unique. Laurens would tell him that that's as close to love as you can get, because everyone gets bored with everyone after a while so you might as well ride every crush as far as it can take you. Pun absolutely intended. "Why are you even asking me?"

The emphasis was supposed on the _me_ – that's a question much better suited for Eliza. Or some teen magazine. Or anyone who isn't currently engaged in a self-destructive friends-with-benefits thing with a guy who's never, ever going to want him like Alexander wants him.

Philip misunderstands, though. "There's this girl in my class," he reveals. "Dolly. She's nice – she still invites me to her house to play, even though Kevin says I'm a stiff and I'm going to eat her if she keeps hanging out with me. I like her, like, a lot. I think... I think she's my best friend now. And she’s really pretty. I mean really, _really_ pretty.” He looks away, embarrassed, and Alexander can’t keep from smiling. “But I don't know if I love her, you know? How do you know that?"

"Do you want to know a secret?" Alexander asks. "Nobody knows for sure."

"So how do you know for sure you love Laurens and not someone else?" Philip shoots back, a little too quick, and Alexander kinda feels like he's been tricked. Damn, is the kid clever.

"I don't," he confesses. Truth be told, he hasn't even given it much thought. Why would he? Even if he were in love with Laurens, it's not like it would change anything between the two of them. He'll be damned if he lets Philip have the last word, though. "I do know for sure I don't like anyone as much as I like Laurens, though. See? Just talking about him puts this big smile on my face. That's probably one of the reason I like talking about him so much. Sometimes I just can't shut up about him – it can be something he did once, something he believes, something stupid we did together, if you're willing to listen I'll tell you about it like it's the most amazing thing that's ever happened. And I smile even bigger when he's around. Even when I'm at my worst, just seeing him or hearing from him instantly makes things better. And if I only had one wish... well, okay, if I only had one wish I'd probably spend it on something more meaningful, like on PDS people getting some basic rights back, but if I only had one wish for myself I'd ask..." Shit. Shit shit shit. "... I'd ask for us to spend the rest of our lives together. Don't care where, don't care how, as long as I get to wake up next to him every morning."

And _shit_ one more time. He _is_ in love with Laurens.

He hopes at least Laurens didn't hear his speech from the kitchen, or Alexander can forget the rest of their lives, his friend isn't going to want to spend one more second around him.

He clears his throat. "So. Do you feel a similar way about Dolly?"

By some miracle, Philip didn't fall asleep while Alexander was blabbering hysterically. Even more impressive, he seems to have actually listened to him. "I think so," he says after some thinking. "She does make me happy. And when I get home from school, I can't wait to tell Mom what we did together." He stops, thoughtful again. "If I had one wish, though, I'd probably spend it on getting Dad back."

"I bet," Alexander murmurs. He doesn't really understand – he's hated his father for as long as he can remember, and while he hated him for leaving like he did, he would probably have hated him even more if he'd stuck around to keep mistreating his mom. Still, he knows it was different for Philip. "What's the last happy memory you have of him?" he wonders.

Philip doesn't even have to think about it. "I still get flashbacks," he tells Alexander. "Of when we were together in the War. He found us shelter in an old abandoned gym, and every day he went out and looked for food to bring me. Rats and pigeons, mostly. He stayed away from people because he was afraid they might follow him and find the place where I was hiding." Of course the guy had to be a saint even as a rabid. He was married to Eliza, after all. "He... I don't think he wanted to hurt the guys that came to rescue us. But they came for me first, and he thought they were hurting me so he tried to defend me, and one of them got scared and took out his gun."

The boy's voice is getting distant, his eyes unfocused. Alexander rests a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at grounding him. "I'm sorry," he says. "He deserved so much better. But hey, at least you're still here – I'm sure that was the most important thing to him. That you'd get to live your life, and that your mom wouldn't be alone."

"You're right," Philip agrees, and smiles. "He'd be happy about that." He turns to the TV, then, which has been on the whole time even though they've pretty much ignored it. "Crap, the show!" he exclaims.

The title card scrolls for a few seconds before it's interrupted by yet more commercials. Looks like they both missed the episode.

"Oops," Alexander comments.

Philip looks like he'd start wailing if he only could. "No no no no no!"

"Dinner's ready!" Laurens announces, coming into the living room without the faintest idea that he's about to step right into the scene of a tragedy. He notices pretty fast, anyway – it would be hard to miss.

"I'm not eating," Philip declares, somehow managing to sound like an adult who's making a conscious, responsible decision rather than a boy throwing a tantrum. "I'm sorry, but I'm too upset."

"Come on, Philip," Alexander tries to reason with him, "you know your mom worries when you don't eat anything."

It's not like the kid _needs_ to eat, he's not getting any bigger anyway, but Eliza has read all the books and talked to all the experts and the conclusion she came to was that it's much better for PDS sufferers to keep eating regularly. Apparently it keeps them grounded, helping them rebuild a sense of normalcy and routine, not to mention that it's precious sociable time. This last point is where Alexander had to give up debating the issue with Eliza – he spends too much time drinking at the Archive to be able to argue with any credibility that food and drinks have no connection to social life for people like him.

Philip, of course, isn't really in the mood to care about all that right now. "I'll explain it to her, she'll understand. And if she doesn't, I don't care. She can't make me eat when I'm not hungry."

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" Laurens steps in, coming to rest his arms on the back of the couch where Philip is sitting with his arms crossed and a stubborn look on his face. "You said you wanted hamburgers before. What changed your mind?"

"I told you, I'm too upset to eat," Philip replies, not looking at him. Yeah, if he's not listening to Alexander, who's spent a lot of hours building a strong, trusting relationship with him, chances are he won't listen to Laurens either. Alexander is pretty sure he doesn't even like him.

Laurens doesn't give up easily, though. "And why are you upset?" he wants to know.

"Because I missed the episode," Philip reveals all in one breath. "I got distracted talking with Alexander and I missed everything that happened."

"Mm." Laurens thinks about it for a second. Or maybe he just pretends to – if the hint of smugness in his smile is any indication, he's had a solution to the crisis all along. "I'll tell you what, why don't I bring you the episode tomorrow so you can watch it in peace?"

In a split second, Philip's full attention is on him, eyes lit with hopeful anticipation. "You have the episode? Even though it's new?"

"I don't, but I can get it and deliver it to you tomorrow," Laurens promises. "Would that be okay?"

"Of course!" Philip squeals, standing on the couch to hug him. "Thank you thank you thank you thank..."

"It's fine," Laurens tries to placate him. He looks a little uncomfortable with the kid's face pressed against his stomach. Pleased, but uncomfortable. Just because he's better with children than Alexander anticipated it doesn't mean he's especially fond of them. "I know what you're going through. Our Alexander can be very distracting, it's terrible for keeping up with shows."

Alexander raises an eyebrow at the godawful, very-inappropriate-in-front-of-a-kid innuendo, but the effect must be ruined by how big he's smiling. For some reason he isn't even a little bit jealous of how quickly his friend won over Philip – all he feels is admiration, and a pinch of surprise, and that sense of familiarity and belonging that being around Laurens and Philip always gives him, except this time it's so much stronger. As if their joined presence multiplied the wonderful sensation either of them brings him on his own.

Alexander interrupts his inner gushing to gently pull Philip away from Laurens. "Come on, time to wash your hands, we don't want those burgers to get cold."

"Sure," Philip accepts. On his way to the bathroom he stops and turns, says: "Sorry about what I said, Alexander. Laurens is cool, I'm glad you're in love with him."

He did _not_ just say that. Damn, Alexander should have sworn him to secrecy. Or even better, he shouldn't have opened his big mouth and spilled his mushy feelings to a kid. It's not like he did it on purpose, though – he was put with his back to the wall after Philip saw the two of them kiss. How could he ever think hanging out with the both of them would be a good idea?

He deliberately avoids Laurens' eyes and tries to play it cool. "Uh, thanks?"

"You're welcome."

And with that Philip's gone, leaving Alexander to face the awkwardness alone.

"So that's what you crazy kids do every week?" Laurens asks, nodding in Philip's direction. “Hang on the couch and gossip about boys?"

Alexander buries his head in his hands and groans. "God, I'm sorry, I swear I didn't..."

"Don't be," Laurens says, and he sounds almost sincere. "I always tell my sister about your performance in bed. We’ve come up with a system to give you grades and all.”

"You're a _jerk_ ," Alexander complains, smacking him in the face with the throw pillow Philip was hiding into earlier.

He expected retaliation, but all Laurens does is laugh and kiss the top of his head. "Come on. I didn't slave in that kitchen for half an hour for you guys to make me throw everything away."

Dinner goes surprisingly well. After Philip's indiscretion, Alexander was expecting Laurens to freak out, or at least be uncomfortable and silent the whole meal, so it kinda throws him off to see him eating eagerly and laughing and chatting with Philip about superheroes. A part of him hopes Laurens simply didn't take Philip seriously, which would both be quite sensible of him and a huge relief for Alexander. Another, which he doesn't even want to acknowledge because it's definitely the product of wishful thinking, wants to believe that Laurens does take Philip seriously and doesn't mind that Alexander is in love with him. Maybe he's even happy about it.

Mostly, he fears he's just keeping up appearances in front of the kid and will tear Alexander a new one the second they're alone.

In any case, Alexander figures the best thing he can do right now is stop worrying about it and enjoy dinner, so he does exactly that. It helps that he's still Philip's favorite guy in the room, and after the first couple minutes they fall into their usual routine of heartfelt talk and joking around. And Laurens' food is delicious, which also makes it easier to forget one's woes.

They clean up together, Laurens and Alexander, while Philip gets ready for bed, and again there's nothing cold or stunted in the way Laurens acts around him. If anything he seems more affectionate than usual, finding ways to be in Alexander's space as much as possible, to touch him. Stealing quick kisses from him at every chance. It's as wonderful as it is unsettling.

They're all sitting in Philip's room, Alexander and the boy reading on the bed, Laurens sketching a little way away from them, when Eliza comes back. She isn't alone – Alexander notices before she even comes through the door, his heightened senses registering without effort the two sets of feet on the stairs and the private whispers.

He exchanges a knowing glance with Philip, who frowns. "Aunt Jelly wasn't coming over today," he supplies.

"Maybe some friend from the group?" Alexander tries to make a guess, but before the boy can reply Eliza's head appears through the door.

"Hi, everyone," she greets. "How was your evening?"

"Fine. Who's the girl with you?" Philip cuts right to the chase.

"Her name is Theodosia," Eliza reveals. "She's in my group and she's going to stay with us for a few days, okay?"

Philip shrugs. "Okay," he accepts. He stops, then. "Why?"

Another parent might lie, but Alexander has never seen Eliza be anything other than truthful with her kid. "Because she doesn't have another place to stay at the moment," she explains.

"Okay then," Philip repeats, nodding. "Can I meet her?"

"It's probably best to wait until tomorrow. Give her some time to settle, you know?"

"You're right," the kid admits. He looks disappointed, but he must understand that's the best thing to do because he doesn't even try to question it. Instead, he turns to Alexander. "Will you be back soon?"

Alexander nods. "Next week, if you and your mom will have me."

"Of course!" Philip exclaims before Eliza has a chance to speak for herself. "You too, Laurens. We can all watch The Flash together."

"Don't know if I can make it next week," Laurens declines politely, standing up, "but I'll bring you the episode tomorrow. And I'll make sure Alexander watches it so he's all caught up for next week too, okay?"

Philip gives one single, decisive nod of approval. "Thank you."

He and Alexander fist bump and wish each other goodnight before Alexander joins Eliza and Laurens out of the room. There's no sign of the mysterious new girl from group, but if the sound of the tap running is any indication, she must be in the bathroom.

"Thank you so much, as usual," Eliza says, handing Alexander what looks like an exaggerate amount of money. He thought he'd finally convinced her to stop trying to pay him for the time he spends with Philip.

"No way," he starts refusing, but he knows the resolute look Eliza is giving him and doubts he's going to change her mind this time.

"Just take it," she pleads. "I still have a lot to do, I don't have the time to argue with you about this."

She sounds nothing but genuine, and Alexander doesn't have the heart to ignore her request. "As you wish. Thank you so much." He pockets the money and is about to add that this is the first and last time he accepts any kind of payment from her when Theodosia comes out of the bathroom.

She's young, probably in her early 20s, with black curls that she cropped short and dyed with bright red highlights. She's alive, too, her dark skin too luminous to be covered in mousse, the depth of her eyes too expressive to be the product of contacts.

She stops in her tracks when she sees Alexander, addressing Eliza with a concerned tone. "I didn't know you had guests! Are you sure you..."

"Don't worry, they're just leaving," Eliza reassures her. "Alexander here babysits Philip when I'm at group."

"Oh. Nice to meet you, Alexander," Theodosia says, finally closing the distance between herself and everyone else in the room. British, Alexander notices. Well, British accent, at least. ”Theodosia Bartow. I'm in Eliza's group."

Alexander flashes her a smile. "Very nice to meet you. I'm sure you're going to have a great time staying with Eliza and Philip. They're wonderful people."

"I know," Theodosia says, smiling at Eliza. "Eliza has already done so much for me. And you are...?"

"Laurens," he introduces himself, shaking her hand. "Also here thanks to Eliza's generosity, and also about to leave."

"Unless there's anything we can do to help around here?" Alexander offers. He still feels bad for taking Eliza's money, and besides, he's kinda curious about the new girl's story.

Eliza shakes her head, though. "Thanks, but we got it. You two take some time for yourselves, you've already done a lot for me."

"It was nothing," Alexander protests, but he takes the hint and after thanking Eliza again and wishing Theodosia good luck, he and Laurens head back home.

Or that's where Alexander thought they were going. Laurens seems to have other plans.

"Can we not go back just yet?" he asks. "I want to walk with you for a bit."

"Sure," Alexander accepts. He suspects it has more to do with his friend not wanting to see Mulligan right away than a sudden desire of his to go sightseeing around the neighborhood, but for Laurens' sake he'll bite. It's not like he has anything to do at home anyway, except obsess about Lafayette and the Reynolds case.

This is much better. They're taking the backroads, as they usually do, so even though the night is still young they hardly ever run into anyone. The night sky and the streetlights, the graffiti on the walls, the chilly night air that brings with it the lively scent of spring – the whole world seems to exist just for the two of them.

"Thanks for looking out for me tonight," Laurens murmurs, taking Alexander's hand in his. Yup, this is so much better than going home.

"Thanks for being so awesome back there." Alexander turns and kisses him on the temple. "I never thought I'd see the day I couldn't handle a kid and you could."

Laurens gives him a half-smile. "That's 'cause you keep forgetting I have siblings."

"That's your fault for never talking about them," Alexander counters. "And besides, I didn't think it was your job to get them to listen."

"Why, 'cause my parents are loaded and could totally afford a full-time babysitter?" Laurens asks, and any other day it would just feel like his usual self-deprecating humor, but tonight it sounds suspiciously close to what Mulligan was accusing him of earlier.

Which is not what Alexander was getting at. At all. "No, 'cause your parents are the parents in the family and I figured they were supposed to deal with that," he clarifies.

"Oh." Laurens bites his lip, embarrassed. "Sorry. I thought you meant..."

"I know," Alexander interrupts him. "I wouldn't, alright? I don't get a kick out of hurting you." Another thought crosses his mind, then, and he adds: "And neither does Mulligan."

"Yeah, I know," Laurens sighs. "I just wish he'd give me a break. Seems like he brings all that up every time I do something he doesn't like. As if it were my fault my family's rich or I didn't die three years ago." He huffs. "Well, I guess the former is technically my fault. It's not like I wasn't thinking of killing myself, I could have just gone ahead and done it."

"If you'd done it, I would have personally hunted you down and killed you a second time," Alexander says. It might be phrased as a joke, but the sentiment behind it is completely serious.

"You wouldn't even have known me," Laurens points out, "so I doubt it."

"See, that right there is proof that killing yourself is always a bad idea. Think of all the awesomeness you would have missed."

"I'm sorry, is 'all the awesomeness' supposed to be you?"

"Of course not," Alexander replies modestly, "but I'm definitely a big part of it."

He expected his friend to laugh and shove him away. Instead, Laurens' eyes go soft. "Yeah you are," he says.

They walk in silence for a while after that. If they keep this up, they're going to get to the Brooklyn bridge and it's going to be a long walk back home from there. Alexander doesn't really care. He's happy, and Laurens is... not unhappy, at least, which is a lot considering how they've been living this past month. They can keep going for as long as they like.

It feels weird, though, 'cause they've been crossing more and more streets into civilization and there's a good number of people around and Alexander and Laurens are still holding hands. They don't usually do it, not even now that the cat's out the bag and all their friends know they're sleeping together. Laurens never seemed too comfortable with PDA (unless it's part of foreplay, of course, but that's a whole other story) and Alexander didn't really mind – it's emotional attachment he craves, not the clichéd couply stuff.

Tonight, though, Laurens doesn't seem to want to let go, and it's... a lot of things. Nice. Validating. Sweet.

Weird.

"What do you think Theodosia's deal is?" Alexander wonders out of curiosity. And a shameful desire to think about anything else.

"Eliza said she's from her group, right?" Laurens recalls. "Maybe her PDS... husband or boyfriend or whatever came back and she had to leave the house to him."

"Isn't it usually the other way round?" Alexander argues.

"Yeah," Laurens agrees. "Lee would probably have a heart attack if that weren't the case. GOOD, HARDWORKING CITIZENS EVICTED FROM THEIR HOMES BY ZOMBIES. Hashtag Unfair. Hashtag Living First. Hashtag JustTryAndGetYourDirtyPawsOnMyCondoI'llBlowYourHeadOffYouRottingScum."

Alexander can't quite mask his amusement. "You should ghostwrite all his tweets."

"And argue against myself?" Laurens thinks about it. "Yeah, that would probably make for a more stimulating fight."

"I still don't get why he blocked me and not you, by the way," Alexander complains.

Laurens quirks an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Why, you do?"

"Profile pictures. He must think I'm just a misguided American citizen he can help see the light, while you're a self-serving stiff that should only go back six feet under." He makes a face. "No offense."

"None taken," Alexander replies automatically. Even while he was listening to Laurens, something has been distracting him. They've been walking alongside the East River for a few minutes now and most of the people they've run into have looked at them... wrong. Squaring them up with a grimace on their face, or fixing a hard stare on them. A couple have done the opposite, lowering their gaze and quickening their pace to avoid them. It's not really that uncommon – Alexander is used to people being uncomfortable around him. Afraid, even. Even crossing the heart of Manhattan in the middle of the day, though, he's never faced an opposition so unanimous. It seems like he’s rubbing everyone the wrong way tonight, and not even he is used to it.

Laurens is seemingly oblivious of the situation, but he does notice Alexander's discomfort. "Something bothering you?" he inquires.

"Is it me or this neighborhood got 200% more prejudiced while we were watching Philip?" Alexander points out.

"You think something happened?" Laurens suggests, looking around. "I don't know, maybe the ULA released some new threatening statement? Everyone's always on edge after those."

"Can't find anything," supplies Alexander, who's already checking his phone. There's a missing call from Mulligan from almost half an hour earlier, but the rest of the world seems to be pretty quiet. Even Twitter only sent him a couple of notifications.

Laurens snorts. "Go figure. Guess people don't even need an excuse to be horrible anymore."

"Guess not," Alexander agrees sadly. He puts his phone back into his pocket and sees the bridge, worryingly close. "You plannin' on walking all the way to Manhattan?"

"Why, you don't want to?"

"No. Well, I don't know," he amends. "I just don't like not knowing where we're going."

Laurens smiles fondly at him. "Just to the bridge, alright? Think you can make it 'til there?"

"Of course. Can you?" Alexander challenges, and without warning he lets go of Laurens' hand and starts racing him to the destination.

"You sneaky..." Laurens mutters, running after him.

Alexander laughs, loud and elated. Of course Laurens would follow him. They zigzag between the outraged strangers on the sidewalk, mindless of everything but their game. Not that Alexander needs to put much energy into it – he knows he could beat Laurens with his eyes closed. No matter how fast his friend is, Alexander will always have the fundamental advantage of not feeling fatigue.

He hasn't run like this in ages, and he had forgotten how liberating it felt. Or maybe it never felt this good before. Even though his limbs don't move quite as effortlessly as they used to and the people he comes across are positively terrified by the lunging out-of-control zombie, it's as close to feeling alive as he can get. He can keep going 'til he reaches the bridge, and even further if he wants, run all the way to Manhattan with the night breeze in his hair and the million smells of the city telling him as many stories. He can be what he was always meant to be – free and powerful and above everyone else.

He stops when he reaches the bridge, leaning against the railing to enjoy the view as he waits for Laurens to catch up. His city sure looks beautiful at night.

"I hate you," Laurens whines. It took him less than Alexander thought to reach their destination, but he doesn't look too good. He sags against the railing, eyes closed, breathing heavily. That's what he gets for his hubris.

Alexander sits down next to him. "I didn't think you'd be so foolish to take up the challenge," he offers.

"Fuck you," Laurens says, and smiles.

"Seriously, that's what I get for being so complacent and escorting you all the way here?" Alexander asks in mock offense. "Just more of the usual abuse?"

"Yep," Laurens confirms, finally opening his eyes again. "What were you expecting? Gratitude? Endless devotion? A cookie?“

"That would be a start," Alexander deadpans. He waits for his friend to recover, more or less, before jumping back to his feet. "C'mon, let's take a walk."

"I thought you were tired of walking aimlessly?" Laurens remarks, but he does get up and follow him.

Alexander shrugs. "I changed my mind." He smiles, mischievous. "And it's not _aimlessly_. I want to find us a good spot to make out."

Laurens returns the smile, a hint of affection and pride in it. "Now you're talking."

He throws an arm around Alexander's shoulders to give him a quick peck on the cheek, and that's how they go the rest of the way.

"So why did you want to come here?" Alexander wonders.

Laurens turns to look at him, orange and blue glows dancing on his skin. He's more beautiful than ever. "Just 'cause. I've lived in New York for a year and a half and I've never crossed this bridge just for the sake of it."

Weird as it may sound, Alexander understands perfectly what he means. "Like what you see?"

"Very."

Alexander holds him a little closer, and Laurens lets him.

They only walk for a couple more minutes before Laurens jumps on the railing and pulls Alexander in for a kiss. It's not exactly the place Alexander would have picked. The angle isn't ideal, for one thing, and Laurens' position is a little precarious for his taste. He really wouldn't put it past Laurens to actually find this hot – being suspended between Alexander's lips and a fall to certain death. Totally sounds like the kind of morbid shit he’d be into.

At least he's clinging to Alexander for the time being.

Also, he seems to be really into it, and that's enough to make Alexander forget his qualms in a matter of seconds. He holds Laurens' head, caressing his cheek as their tongues move against each other, slow and strong and inevitable as tidal waves. Laurens wraps his legs around his waist and pulls him even closer, almost as if he wanted them to melt into each other, the undead that misses being alive and the living that wishes he were dead, and Alexander is in love with him, he's so in love with him and doesn't feel like it's such a bad thing for once.

Alexander's senses don't even get a chance to come alive before he gets shoved from behind. It doesn't hurt, it's not even strong enough to make him stumble, but it does pull him and Laurens apart.

"What the fuck?" he asks, to no avail – his attacker, a young man in a red baseball cap, has quickened his pace and is already slipping away. Alexander turns to Laurens. "Did you see that? What the fuck is wrong with people tonight?"

He faces discrimination on a daily basis, but he'd never been shoved by a total stranger before. Well, he has, multiple times actually, but only after opening his mouth. This time he didn't go searching for a fight, he wasn't even looking at the guy, and he still managed to offend him in some way. Burr can take all his theories about keeping one's head down being enough to steer clear of trouble and shove them up his ass.

Laurens jumps down the railing and puts a comforting hand on his neck. "I'm sorry, babe," he says. "You want me to run after him and punch him on the nose?"

Alexander finds himself smiling in spite of everything. "Nah, it's fine. Just keep touching me?"

"Sure, I can do that too," Laurens accepts, his fingers massaging the back of Alexander's neck, and Alexander lets his eyes flutter close.

He opens them a second later. Another guy, a freakishly tall one this time, has just spit at Laurens' feet.

"You're disgusting," he hisses, without even bothering to look at Alexander. His eyes are fixed on Laurens, actually, and if Alexander didn't know better he'd say it's his friend the guy has a bone to pick with.

"That's ironic, don't you think?" Laurens jumps to his defense. "Calling my friend disgusting right after you cover public property in your gross slobber."

"I wasn't talking to that _thing_ , I was talking to you," the guy clarifies, taking a threatening step forward. Alexander moves closer to Laurens too, makes it very clear to the guy that if he wants a fight, he's going to be one against two. "Corpse fucker. You're sick."

Laurens doesn't flinch. "You're right, man. The only reason I'm attracted to this bright, wonderful, hot as hell guy is that I'm mentally ill. I need help, I really do.” He smirks, an idea blossoming in his devious mind. “In fact, if you were so kind as to make a donation, maybe I could go get treated. I don't know, ten bucks, twenty? I know it might not seem like much, but every little help counts."

The guy blinks, stunted. "You're sick" is his very creative reply, and he starts walking away.

"I know I am!" Laurens shouts after him. "Won't you help me? Where's your charitable spirit?"

The guy quickens his pace, and both Alexander and Laurens burst into laughter.

"Well, at least that solves the mystery," Alexander eventually comments. "Of why the world was especially hostile tonight. There were no terrorist attacks, only a zombie and a living holding hands."

"Scandalous!" Laurens exclaims in a sing-song voice. He's not just untouched by what's happened, he seems to be excited about it.

Alexander shakes his head, but he can't hide his amusement. "Only you could make street harassment into something funny."

Laurens gives him a brilliant smile. "Wanna keep going?"

Alexander smiles back.

They both sit on the railing this time, kissing lazily or touching each other in ways that couldn't possibly be mistaken for platonic, and it _fucking pisses people off_. It should be disheartening, but tonight they've decided they're going to find it hilarious. To people who stare at them too long, they recommend to check their website showmedeadskin.com for more similar content. A young couple stops kissing when they see them, too grossed out to go on, and Alexander gives them suggestions on how to rekindle their sex life. When a woman with two kids covers their eyes as they pass by, Laurens starts yelling after them that fucking zombies gives you superpowers. A man accuses Laurens of necrophilia and Alexander offers him to try for himself and see if it's really that gross, Laurens doesn't mind sharing anyway, and even starts taking his clothes off before the guy runs away in a panic.

It's funny, and endlessly cathartic, and Alexander could go on forever. After an hour or so, though, it gets late and less and less people start walking by, so they decide to call it a night.

"Thanks for tonight," Laurens says, kissing Alexander on the cheek. "I needed it."

"Me too," Alexander agrees. This is what he thinks of when he longs for Laurens to get over all his hang-ups and be with him. Not marriage and mortgages and all that scary shit that makes his friend feel trapped and inadequate. Just this – the two of them existing with each other just like they did tonight, no more, no less. Is that really too much to ask?

"There's something I need to tell you before we go back."

Maybe it's not. Maybe if he tells Laurens this he can make him understand, explain to him that he has nothing to fear. Maybe they can...

"Alexander?" Laurens' voice interrupts his train of thoughts.

"Sorry." He focuses back on his friend, and is surprised at how serious he looks all of a sudden. "What is it?"

Laurens looks away, at the little lights on the horizon that make the city's skyline perfectly clear even in the dark. "I'm leaving New York," he reveals, and there's a sad determination in his eyes as he meets Alexander's gaze again. "I'm going home."


	25. In which Alexander is deserted

"Home," Alexander repeats. He'd feel dumb if Laurens' words hadn't momentarily made him incapable of feeling anything but confusion and betrayal.

This makes no sense. They had fun tonight, they both did, and Alexander was sure Laurens was feeling better. They laughed, they kissed, they had a really great time. And all the while Laurens was planning on leaving? On moving back to South Carolina? Why on earth would he do that? His home is here now, in New York, with Alexander and Mulligan and...

Wait a second. "Is this about what Mulligan said earlier?" Alexander wants to know. Oh, he's so going to kill the both of them. He's tired of being stuck in the middle of their fucking dumb quarreling. "Don't let him get to you, you know he didn't mean any of that shit."

"No, he was right," Laurens muses. "I'm no good here."

"That's..." Alexander starts protesting.

Laurens doesn't want to listen, though. "No, let me finish. You and Mulligan were right, okay? I know turning to the ULA was a terrible idea. More than that, actually – it was dangerous and dumb and desperate. But that's exactly the point. I _am_ desperate." His voice cracks on the word and he rubs at his eyes. "I'm not like you and Mulligan. I don't have the foresight to think up a plan and stick to it until I get what I want. It's just not my style. I need to act, you know? Do something. Keep my mind busy. I don't do that, I... do stupid shit. The kind you were trying to prevent tonight."

Alexander purses his lips. "So... you only contacted the ULA 'cause you needed a distraction?"

"I needed to feel like I was doing something for Laf," Laurens explains himself. "But you were right, that's not going to help him. Once again, I fucked up royally."

"And you... what, you're going to exile yourself to Charleston as a form of self-punishment?" Alexander can't believe it.

Laurens shakes his head. "No, I think I might have come up with a good idea for once." There's that spark in his eyes again, and Alexander doesn't doubt for a second that he's absolutely convinced of what he’s saying. "You know the article in the Times? It mentioned a Matthew Anderson who's the head of the Albany treatment center."

"Yeah." Alexander remembers. The guy denied any allegation that the facility under his care might be guilty of inhuman treatment, of course. "What about him?"

"His name sounded familiar, so I looked him up. Turns out he's from Charleston too. He went to high school with my father."

"Get out!" Alexander exclaims, forgetting for a moment that he doesn't want to like Laurens' plan. This could be good for them. Real good. "Do you know if they were actually friends?"

"No idea," Laurens confesses. "But Anderson was on trial for sexual harassment a couple years before the Rising, and my father was the judge on the case. Dismissed all the charges, even though the prosecution had built a pretty strong case against him."

Alexander makes a face. "Of course he did." He sighs. "Well, so the guy might owe him. You're right, it's worth looking into."

Laurens smiles at him, relieved. “Great, I'm glad we agree. I bought the plane ticket when I was making dinner, I'm leaving tomorrow after..."

"Wait. Just like that?" Alexander interrupts him. "You're moving back _tomorrow_? After all your parents have done to you? All because you had a revelation while you were chopping tomatoes?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" Laurens protests. "Kinda hard asking my father for a favor if we're not talking, isn't it?"

"Can't you just pick up the phone, give him a call?"

"And say what? _I'm totally sorry, no I'm still gonna do whatever the hell I like, hurry up and get my friend out of prison now?_ " Laurens asks, skeptical. "Nah, man. My parents are not idiots. Either way, they'll know the only reason I'm trying to make amends is that I want something from them. But if I go back home like they want, at least they'll feel like they got something out of it as well."

Fuck this. Fuck families and their need to constantly be way more treacherous than they should.

"So you're going to give up your freedom to try and give Lafayette his back?" Alexander asks, even though he already knows the answer. That's such a Laurens thing to do – the guy doesn't do _aurea mediocritas_ , either he's being totally self-involved or he's making huge sacrifices nobody asked him to do in the first place. "You really think he'd want that?"

"He's not here," Laurens points out. "I don't give a shit what he'd want. Besides, I'm just going home for a while, not taking his place at the treatment center. If that's all it takes to get him out, I'd say we cut yourselves a pretty sweet deal."

"But it's your life, Laurens," Alexander reminds him, desperate to get him to listen. "Can't you just wait a little longer before you give up? See if the campaign gets us anywhere?"

"Oh my god, why won't you get it? The campaign is done. It's exhausted its purpose." He must notice his tone is getting harsh, because he checks himself. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm leaving tomorrow whether you like it or not," he concludes, his tone a little softer but still unmovable. "All you can decide is how we leave things between us."

Alexander can see the firm determination in his face, has no doubt that he absolutely means it. Laurens is leaving. Worst part is, Alexander couldn't be mad at him if he tried – as convinced as he is that Laurens' martyr complex played an important role in making him come to the decision, he knows his friend too well to believe that's all there is to it. No, as discouraged and done as Laurens is, he'd never leave Lafayette to his fate. If he's moving back home, it's not to flee the battlefield, it's because he genuinely believes that that's where he needs to be if they want a chance to win.

Who knows, he might even be right.

Of course, that doesn't mean Alexander has to like it. "It's not permanent, right?" he asks. He's aware of how needy he must sound, but he doesn't care. "You're coming back when Laf gets out. I mean, for one thing, you have to finish college."

Laurens smiles at his pathetic attempt, sad and affectionate. "Yeah, of course I am. Maybe not to 3B, but I am coming back to New York sooner or later."

"Make it sooner," Alexander mock-threatens him. God, he can't believe this is happening. He feels like he should look away, try to hide the hurt that must be clear in his eyes, but at the same time he can't stop thinking that it's the last few hours he gets to see his friend and he shouldn't waste a second of them. "This place is not the same without you. And I know it, I've lived it for 23 years."

"I'll do my best," Laurens promises, moving closer. "I'm not the same without you, either."

They kiss, and nobody interrupts them this time. Good thing too, 'cause the moment feels too brief, too fragile as it is, and Alexander could probably kill whoever breaks it. He wishes he could photograph every sensation and keep it with him long after Laurens is gone – the tenderness of his fingers at the nape of his neck, the warm caress of his breath against his lips, the soft fabric of his shirt in Alexander's grasp. Then again, a picture is never as good as what it's trying to preserve.

"What now?" Alexander asks after a while.

Laurens kisses his mouth again and smiles. "Your choice. I'm the one who's bailing, so... I'm yours for tonight. Anything you want to do, I'm in."

"Seriously? Anything?"

"Anything," Laurens promises.

"Alright." Alexander bites his lip and smirks. "Let's get married."

Laurens bursts into laughter.

Alexander doesn't.

Laurens stops. "You're not serious, are you?" he asks, starting to look a little unnerved.

"You said anything," Alexander reminds him. "Not, _anything except the stuff I'm too chicken to do._ "

"Yeah, but I thought you'd suggest something fun, not crazy," Laurens argues.

"So you're walking back on your goodbye promise? Is that what you're doing?" Alexander presses him, accusatory.

"No, I..." Laurens begins, but he doesn't know what to say next. He looks positively freaked out.

Playtime's over, Alexander decides. He gives his friend a playful shove, laughing. "Man. Of course I'm not serious – just how lovesick do you think I am?"

"You fucker," Laurens grumbles, trying to hide his relief and doing an embarrassing job at it. Alexander can't believe he really fell for that. Is that the vibe he's giving off? Desperate dowry hunter? No wonder Philip was trying to set him up with Eliza. "That's it, you lost your chance. I'm going to do whatever the hell I want tonight."

"Which is...?" Alexander asks.

Laurens licks his lips, pensive. "Take you home," he decides. "Lock the door to our room so Mulligan can't come in and start nagging us while I give you the fuck of your life. Lie with you all night, holding you and kissing you and touching you until we fall asleep. Wake up in your bed for once."

Wow. That's... wow. Alexander was expecting sex, but everything else seems too good to be true.

So of course he has to try and screw it up. "You sure we can't just get married?" he suggests. "Sounds like the less cheesy alternative."

"Fuck you, man," Laurens says, and starts to walk away. Alexander has to run after him.

"Come on, I was kidding," he tells him. "It's perfect, alright? It's exactly what I would have picked if I hadn't wasted my wish just to mess with you."

It's enough to get Laurens to slow down, but he still won't look Alexander in the eye. "I know I'm terrible at this, okay? No need to rub it in my face all the time."

"Wait." Alexander grabs him by the arm, effectively stopping him. "What is _this_ supposed to be? Relationships? Are we together all of a sudden?"

He always thought when Laurens finally decided they should be more than friends he'd be elated. Instead, he's pissed that Laurens made yet another decision without him. And what use is that, if he's still going to leave?

Laurens sighs. "I'm going away tomorrow," he reminds him.

That much, Alexander already knew. "That's not an answer."

"Yes, it is," Laurens insists. He looks away for a moment, almost as if he was searching for something to say among the Manhattan lights in the distance, before confessing: "Look, I wanted us to be normal, if only for a night. I thought you deserved that."

Oh, Laurens. A few hours of the real stuff before he leaves Alexander forever? How does he not see that that's much more cruel than never even giving him a taste of it? Or maybe he does and didn't care. Maybe he wanted to do this for himself as much as for Alexander, and he really believes it's worth the heartbreak to come.

Either way, they're in it now. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

"Thank you," Alexander says, and it doesn't feel like it's enough. Oh, what the hell. “I want you to know something before you go.”

“What is it?”

Alexander takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “I’m completely, hopelessly in love with you," he confesses. Laurens' eyes go wide for a second, before coloring with gratitude and the deepest affection. "I guess you knew even before Philip spilled it, but it's time you heard it from me as well. I love you. And I want you to know, 'cause I know you're worried about it – these last three months haven't been a waste of time for me. I don't wish I'd spent them with someone else or out looking for a more conventional relationship, okay? 'cause we've been through a lot of shit lately, and still I know this was the happiest I've ever been, dead or alive, and it was mostly thanks to you."

"Fuck, Alexander," Laurens breathes out, eyes shimmering. "You... You know I can’t…?”

“Yeah,” Alexander reassures him. “It’s okay.”

Laurens shakes his head, and for a moment there are tears in his eyes. He blinks them away. “It’s not. But you still mean so much to me, you know that, right? Just because I don’t believe we're going to get married someday and grow old together, that doesn’t mean you’re not so incredibly special.” He takes a step closer, so close. "I feel it, all the time I'm around you, and even when I'm not and just thinking of you makes everything better."

Alexander strokes his cheek, his lower lip, too overwhelmed to say something for once. At least until Laurens darts out his tongue to wet his finger, cheeky.

Alexander smiles. "Let's go home."

It's a long way back, especially since Laurens keeps stopping to kiss Alexander and slip a hand underneath his shirt or down the back of his jeans, but they make it eventually. They're already making out as they stumble into the apartment, tasting each other's lips, neck, tongue, hands feverishly roaming the other's body. It's a miracle they manage to lock both doors behind them and avoid crashing into anything on their way to Alexander's bed.

Once they get there, though, Alexander slows down. He takes his time undressing his friend – he uncovers more golden skin with every element of clothing he discards, and he makes a point of always kissing it at least once before moving on to the next layer. He's straddling Laurens by the time he gets rid of the last of his undershirts, which makes it impossible to ignore the jab of his friend's hard-on against his hip. To Laurens' credit, he doesn't even try to make Alexander get on with it already. He must have understood why he's doing this, how he needs to cherish every second of their last night together.

It's not too long, though, before Laurens gets crazy sensitive to Alexander's touch, whimpering loudly even at the brush of Alexander's lips against the freckles on his chest, bucking his hips in an instinctive search for friction whenever Alexander's hands go anywhere lower than his shoulders. Alexander loves him like this, completely overwhelmed with want, but he also knows it would be heartless to ask him to hold on much longer. So he kisses him on the lips one last time, and stands up.

"Where... where you goin'?" Laurens asks, voice rough. He looks wrecked, and a little lost, and Alexander has never been this attracted to anyone before.

He gives Laurens a smirk, and a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, before starting to take off his pants.

"No, wait, let me," Laurens insists, jumping to his feet to reach him. Alexander's fly is already unzipped, so he can easily slip his hand inside and press his palm against his length. No pulse means no getting hard, but Laurens' touch still sends a sharp jolt of pleasure throughout Alexander's body. Then Laurens seizes his mouth, and everything starts spinning.

Next thing Alexander knows, his jeans and underwear are on the floor and Laurens is guiding him back to his bed. He doesn't seem to be in any rush either, taking the time to stroke Alexander's thigh affectionately before getting out of his own pants. Even when he's finally inside him he moves slowly, slower than he's ever ridden him, and Alexander throws his head back and tries to get lost in the feeling. To forget that after tonight, he won't get to feel it again for the longest time.

They're not used to the slower pace, and Laurens' orgasm catches them both by surprise. Alexander feels him go limp against him and buries his hand in his soft curls, holds him close to his chest, breathing him in until his friend reemerges from the afterglow.

He looks up at Alexander then, and Alexander smiles. "Good?" he asks.

"Yeah," Laurens confirms, still a little breathless. He kisses Alexander's chest. "God, I'm gonna miss this."

"Me too," Alexander whispers, and holds him a little tighter.

Laurens makes good on his promise, staying in Alexander's bed long after they're both too tired to do anything other than lying in each other's arms, Laurens' face buried against Alexander's neck, their legs intertwined. It would be the best feeling in the world if Alexander didn't know it was going to end any minute now – the second he falls asleep it's over, he's going to wake up and Laurens will be on his way. He'd resent his friend for keeping all this from him until the very last second if he weren't too overwhelmed by how much he loves him right now. He can be mad at Laurens in the morning, he decides, and it's the last thing he remembers thinking before sleep gets the best of him.

There's sunlight in Laurens' dark hair when Alexander opens his eyes again. That’s new – he’s still getting used to the longer days of spring. Laurens’ proximity is just as new, and even more appreciated. Even though their room is so small that they’re always pushed close one way or another, there’s a completely different intimacy to waking up in the same bed. It’s good. Right and good. Alexander thinks of the jackasses from last night, of what they’d have to say about it, and feels rebellious all of a sudden.

He starts kissing his way up Laurens’ back, slow but intense, his thumb tracing circles over his friend’s hip. It’s not long before Laurens starts groaning softly and turns around, still half asleep but awake enough to search for Alexander’s mouth. They make out lazily for a few minutes before Laurens pulls back, a fond smile in his eyes.

"Good morning,” he mumbles.

Alexander doesn't want to be a bummer, he really doesn't, but apparently he can't help it. "Not for long." He forces himself to look away from his friend, up at the ceiling, before asking: "What time's your flight?"

"10... 40, I think?" Laurens provides.

Alexander turns to him sharply. “You're kidding, right?"

"Why, what's the matter?"

"I have Maria Reynolds' arraignment this morning. I can't come to the airport with you."

“Oh.” Laurens puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer. Alexander lets him – begrudgingly. ”It's okay. You didn't have to."

"I know, but I wanted to,” Alexander complains.

"I'm sorry babe,” Laurens says, turning his head to kiss his temple. He’s still a little sleepy. And horny. “How long do you have before work?"

"I don't know, what time is..." Alexander starts asking, checking his phone. "About five minutes."

"Does it mean I don't get to do you one last time?" Laurens asks, mouthing his way up Alexander's jaw.

"Afraid not," Alexander confirms. He takes Laurens' hand into his, looks down at their intertwined fingers and feels his heart break. "You want the good stuff, you're gonna have to hurry back."

"Oh, I will," Laurens promises. He kisses Alexander, teasing his mouth with just the tip of his tongue, before falling back with a dejected groan. "Fuck, I don't want to leave."

 _Then don't_ , Alexander wants to tell him. _Stay here with me and you can do me as many times as you want and love me and fight with me until we change the world._ That's all Alexander wants.

And while they do that, Lafayette can keep suffering on his own.

"Come on, see it this way – you're not going to have to put up with Burr anymore," he tries to cheer up his friend. "I mean, think about it. No more lunatic waking you in the middle of the night because he's somehow convinced you're responsible for every little noise in the street. I'd give anything to be free of that. Ooh, and you're getting hot water again! And a proper bathroom with no cameras. And a room where you can take more than two steps before running into a wall." He makes a face. "Honestly, how did you put up with this place for so long?"

Laurens smiles weakly. "It was worth it, believe me." He turns to his side so that he's facing Alexander, kisses him on the nose before carrying on: "By the way, I was thinking... Remember Eliza's friend from last night? Theodosia?"

"Sure."

"I don't know what her situation is, but maybe if she needs a place to stay for more than a couple nights you could ask her if she wants to move in. The apartment was supposed to fit three people, after all."

It's sensible, and thoughtful, and Alexander really wants to get behind it. Right now, though, all he can think is that if Laurens is already looking for someone to take his place, he definitely isn't planning on coming back soon. Kinda makes it hard to see the glass half full.

So of course its mind jumps to all the possible obstacles. "I don't know, man. She's a living too, she'd have a pretty hard time here. And she doesn't know me and Mulligan at all. How many girls would trust two guys they've just met enough to move in with them?"

"Oh come on, I'm sure Eliza can vouch for the both of you," Laurens dismisses his concerns. "And it would be temporary. I'm sure she can survive a couple cold showers. Now if _you_ don't want her here, that's another..."

"I didn't say that!" Alexander protests. "I'm going to ask her, alright? I know it's the right thing to do."

Laurens frowns at his choice of words. "But you don't like it," he deduces.

Alexander raises a hand to his face, gently stroking his cheekbone with the thumb. "I don't like the idea of anyone taking your place," he admits in a whisper.

Laurens turns his head to kiss his hand, just as Alexander's alarm starts ringing.

"Fuck," Alexander groans, blindly reaching for his phone to turn it off.

"Nooo," Laurens echoes his complaint. "Can't you call in sick just this once? Stay with me 'til I have to get to the airport?"

"I'd love to," Alexander admits even as he stands up to go looking for his clothes around the room, "but as you should know, PDS sufferers don't get sick. Besides, I blow off work this morning, and some abusing piece of shit is going to send his victim to jail. You want to be responsible for that?"

He turns to Laurens and finds him sitting on the bed, very clearly ogling him. He pretends to shake himself when Alexander clears his throat eloquently. "Sorry. Sorry, you were saying something?" he asks.

"Nothing." Alexander makes a show of sliding back into his jeans. "You better enjoy this while it lasts, 'cause you're not going to find ass like this in that hillbilly hellhole you're going back to." 

"Pretty sure that's racist," Laurens whines.

"Well, you're homophobic, so you don't get to call me out on anything," Alexander counters.

"Right. I very homophobically spent the best part of last night fucking you. How terrible of me.”

Alexander makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "That was last night, it doesn't count. Today you're leaving, tearing us apart in spite of our profound love, and there's nothing more homophobic than that."

"Fuck off." Laurens laughs. "You don't get to try and make me feel guilty when you're the one who can't take a single day off work to hang one last time."

"That's different. That's one day, and I'm doing it for a good cause."

"Well I'm doing it for Laf, and that's the best cause."

Alexander wants to keep arguing, but the words that come out are quite different. "You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you."

"Me too," Laurens admits.

Alexander closes the little step between them so they can kiss, Laurens still naked and kneeling on the bed, fingers latched to Alexander's belt loops, and Alexander standing in front of him, fully clothed and wishing he weren't. It lasts a while, but it still doesn't feel like enough. Not that Alexander was foolish enough to ever think it would.

"I was totally talking to your ass, by the way," Laurens says after a while, and Alexander huffs against his mouth, amused. He knows it's time to go, yet he can't quite tear himself away.

"You've really decided to stick with it, haven't you? Be a jerk 'til the very end," he counters.

"Not the _very_ end," Laurens amends. "How long do you still have? I'll make you coffee before you go. You can think of it as an apology."

Alexander raises an eyebrow. "For saying you only care about my ass?" He knows Laurens was kidding, he doesn't need an apology for that.

"Yes," Laurens says. "And for everything else, too."

 

The arraignment was set for 11 AM, but Alexander agreed to meet with his clients before then and talk them through the charges. Not that they need to – they already know what they did wrong. Beckley, the opposition, decided to ruin his marriage and possibly his career too rather than pay them off, and accused them of blackmail.

Still, Maria was quite shaken when she introduced Alexander to her case, and he figured it'd be better to spend some time preparing her before he sends her straight into battle.

It's also a chance for Alexander to meet his client's other half. Mr. James Reynolds is a few years older than his wife, still very much alive, and he definitely doesn't share her delicate countenance and effortless style – his shoulders seem too big for his cheap suit, his hip hat sits uncomfortably above his rugged features. There's a sly, cunning sort of intelligence in his eyes, though, and Alexander doesn't doubt for a second that the guy could talk himself out of any situation.

"Mr. Hamilton!" he greets him like they've known each other their whole lives, spreading his arms. "Love to finally meet you. My wife has taken a shine to you, I'll tell you. Wouldn't stop yapping 'bout how cool you are. Me, I'd rather see you into action before jumping to conclusions."

It takes all of Alexander's self-restraint not to point out that the way he's talking, it sounds like they're about to have a threesome. He's hanging with clients, not his perverted clan of friends, so he better get a grip and be professional. Who knows, maybe some time apart from the likes of Laf and Laurens will actually improve his people skills. Now all he needs is for Mulligan to stop speaking to him – which he might already be up for, seeing that Alexander ignored both his calls last night.

He offers Mr. Reynolds his hand to shake, because while he may not be as allergic to human contact as Burr, he isn't really too keen on total strangers hugging him. Especially when they smell of booze as much as this guy. "Then I'm afraid your wife has much better sense than you, Mr. Reynolds," he counters.

He could have delivered the line with a wink and a laugh, made it clear to Mr. Reynolds that he was joking, wives being better than their husbands at something, what has the world come to. He doesn't, because he wasn't joking, and it seems to unsettle his client a little. Alexander would feel bad about slipping like this, he knows being rude to clients has never helped anyone in his position, if Mr. Reynolds hadn't shown up half-drunk. As it is, he only feels he's treating the guy like he deserves.

Before Mr. Reynolds can give voice to his discomfort, Alexander turns to Maria. "How's it going? Nervous?"

"A little," she confesses. "I've never been in a courtroom before."

"Remember, it's just the arraignment. They can't do shit to you guys for now. All you have to do is listen to the charges, tell 'em you didn't do it, and we'll all meet back here in a couple months for the actual trial."

"Mm. At least he doesn't go around talking all fancy just 'cause he thinks he's better than us," Mr. Reynolds comments out loud. "I can dig that."

Both Alexander and Maria ignore him. "You really think we should plead not guilty, then?" she asks. "When I talked to Burr about it, he sounded sure the only option for us was a plea bargain."

"'course it is!" Mr. Reynolds vehemently steps in with his two cents. "I don't like that Burr guy, always hanging around you when I can't see what you're doing, but he's right about this one."

"Well, Burr's not your lawyer though, is he?" Alexander challenges them both. He's not going to let his whole strategy be dictated by a spineless jerk who couldn't even take this case for the sake of a friend. If he thinks he knows much better than Alexander, he shouldn't have blackmailed him into getting involved. "I am. And I promise you, you don't want a plea bargain. You might even get a decent deal out of it, Mr. Reynolds, but you?" Alexander focuses his attention on Maria and shakes his head. "There's no making it better for people like us. It doesn't matter if you killed a baby or drove two miles over the speed limit, they're still going to send you back to the treatment center. Trust me, I know. A friend of mine's there right now, all for an isolated, circumstantial episode of vandalism."

Maria purses her lips, thoughtful, while Mr. Reynolds raises an eyebrow. "And you couldn't help him?" The _We're screwed_ is not-so-subtly implied.

"No, 'cause they didn't even give him a trial," Alexander shuts him up. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have gotten this chance, and I'll do everything in my power to convince you to take advantage of it. I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't."

"Alright," Maria agrees after a brief moment. "You're the lawyer. I trust you."

"Yeah, let's have it your way, Harvard," Mr. Reynolds echoes. "But you better know what you're doing."

"Oh, I do," Alexander promises. "And I went to Columbia. Couldn't really afford to move someplace else."

"You should have blackmailed someone," Reynolds says, and laughs out loud. If Alexander isn't careful, the guy is going to ruin every chance that have of winning this case.

It's getting late, so they enter the courthouse of unspoken accord. Alexander only has the time to do a quick review of the indictment with his clients before the case is called into session and they take their assigned places. Maria looks lost in the courtroom, instinctively shifting closer to Alexander. Good, so she already knows she should expect more support from him than from her husband. At least one of his clients understands how this is going to work.

The judge, Sullivan, is a white, almost unnaturally thin woman in her late forties or early fifties. Alexander hopes he can use it to his advantage – he's not blind, he knows being a woman in New York means coming to face with harassment quite a few times in your life. Maybe she can sympathize with Maria's plight.

Mr. Beckley, the prosecution, Alexander can recognize from the photos Maria showed him. What he didn't expect was for his lawyer to look familiar, too.

He reminds Alexander of Lafayette, but he's alive and a few years older and... oh god, Alexander realizes. He's staring right at Purple Laf. Purple Laf is a friggin' lawyer?! Alexander never would have guessed. The guy was professional enough to ditch his trademark jacket for the occasion, going for a sleek dark suit instead, but he couldn't give up wearing a purple tie with it so the nickname still applies.

Then again, he just identified himself as Thomas Jefferson, so Alexander should probably stick to that. He has a feeling it would be a good step in the direction of being taken seriously.

It's his turn to talk, so he introduces himself: "Good morning, Your Honor. Alexander Hamilton, representing the defendants Mrs. Maria Reynolds and Mr. James Reynolds."

He catches Jefferson and Beckley whispering among themselves at the corner of his eye. They obviously didn't expect a PDS opposition. There's a smug light in Jefferson's eyes, and if Alexander instinctively disliked him after seeing him hit on Laurens a month ago, now he's positively looking forward to crushing him. Nothing like humiliating a cocky pulsist to cheer him up.

The judge hesitates for just a second, but it's enough for Alexander to understand that she, too, is taken aback by the sight of him. At least she has the decency to look a little ashamed of herself because of it. "Thank you."

Okay, so... Pulsist opposition, which was par for the course, and traditionalist but not completely horrible court. Alexander can work with that.

The judge proceeds to inform the defendants that the charges against them are of first degree coercion. Alexander already told them what kind of punishment they're facing, but Jefferson still goes over it again – mostly for the record's sake. If he's found guilty, Reynolds is looking at a year in jail and a thousand dollar fine, worst case scenario. For Maria it's going to be a psychic evaluation to determine whether she can benefit from some more time in a treatment center or she's beyond the point of recovery and should be just put out of her misery. The fact that the latter outcome is very, very unlikely is not as reassuring as it might seem. Nobody comes out of the second round at a treatment center – not unchanged, at least.

Alexander tries not to think of Lafayette. He can't wait for this formality to be over so he can start working on his attack plan.

"How do you plead," Jefferson asks Reynolds when he's done reciting the legal jargon, "guilty or not guilty?"

Reynolds looks left and right, uncomfortable. Great, he's already fucking things up. If their cases weren't so deeply intertwined, Alexander would seriously start considering ditching him and representing only Maria.

He's looking at her now, Mr. Reynolds, smiling sadly.

"Mr. Reynolds?" Jefferson presses him. "Guilty or not guilty?"

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he says, eyes still fixed on his wife, before straightening his back and announcing: "Guilty. And I'm ready to give you all the dirt you need to put her behind bars too, if in return you promise to spare me the jail time."

The whole courtroom falls into shock. It's one thing to have a defendant plead guilty, a whole other story to see him sell his wife to save his own skin. Whatever the court decides, Reynolds has not made himself any friends today.

And really, it would be impossible for anyone to root for him when Maria is standing right there, heartbroken and confused. "James..." she murmurs, voice shaky and weak, and it's more moving than any long impassioned speech could ever hope to be.

Alexander wants to kill the guy. "You fucker. You self-serving asshole, you slime..."

He could go on insulting him for ages, but the court decides to put a stop to that. "Let's try to be professional, Mr. Hamilton," she reproaches him.

Fuck, she's right. He's so angry that he's forgetting to be smart, and he can't afford that, now more than ever.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," he apologizes quickly. His eyes fall on Reynolds and he feels Laurens' coffee threaten to make a reappearance. He can't stay here, he realizes, and Maria can't either. They're both so upset, albeit in different ways, and might end up doing something impulsive and dumb. "Could we please take a brief recess? I don't think my client is in the right state to make any decisions right now. She could really use a moment to regroup."

"Yes, please," Maria confirms, nodding through her sobs.

They must look so miserable that even the judge takes pity on them. "You and your client both," she points out, merciless. Alexander isn't fooling her. "Alright. Let's all take ten minutes. We'll resume at exactly 11:15."

A tide of different noises rises again – the opposition's murmuring amongst themselves, the screeching of chairs being pulled back, Judge Sullivan’s heels clicking on the smooth floor. Maria's sobs, getting louder and more desperate now that the room isn't enveloped in respectful silence anymore and they don't stand out as much.

"I'm sorry, baby," Reynolds is telling her. "You know how this life is. You have to look out for yourself."

"I thought we were supposed to look out for each other," she counters, voice barely audible.

He puts an arm on her shoulder, and she lets him. "You're right, sweetheart. We are." He takes a step back. "Which is why you should be proud of yourself. I mean let's face it, you're going to the treatment center anyway, at least this way I get to..."

"Get out," Alexander says through gritted teeth. If he has to hear one more word from this pile of human garbage, nothing is going to stop him from socking him in the nose.

Unfortunately for them both, Reynolds doesn't quite grasp the gravity of the situation. "You should be proud of me too, mister big lawyer man. I just solved the case for you."

"Seriously, man, get out of my sight. This is the last time I'm asking nicely," Alexander insists, and he might be smaller than Reynolds, but he's so angry that he wouldn't have any trouble knocking him down. He knows it.

Reynolds must come to a similar conclusion, because he only lets a couple seconds of tense silence go by before stepping back. "Fine, whatever you say. I never wanted you to represent me anyway." He walks out of the courtroom, and as much as Alexander hates to follow him he knows they're not supposed to stay in when they're not in session.

He doesn't want to stand in the hallway with Reynolds and the opposition either, so he guides Maria in the street outside. Breathing in the late morning breeze does nothing to quell his anger, but it seems to help his client a little.

Unfortunately, that doesn't mean that she's any more optimistic. "I should plead guilty too, right?" she asks before Alexander has a chance to say anything. Her voice is still a little shaky, but she's holding his gaze with dignity. "Spare you the trouble and me the self-delusion."

"You're not deluding yourself," Alexander promises. "I told you, we're going to win this. We have to."

"How? You could have tried to do something before, but now we're fucked. James is going to tell them everything."

"James is a lowlife and a drunk," he reminds her. Yeah, he can totally work with that. "Think about it, the only three people who know what really went down are you, your husband, and Beckley. You and I are zombies so the court is instinctively going to be wary of us, but you're a smart woman and I'm the best lawyer in the state, I think it's safe to say we can easily prove them wrong. Reynolds, on the other hand? Not a reliable witness, and as for Beckley, he's a rapist. He has every interest in seeing you taken away." He smiles at her, cocky. They're not fucked until he says they are. "We can discredit him too."

Maria still isn't on board. "About Beckley..." she starts, and stops. For the first time since they got outside, she's looking down, almost afraid to meet Alexander's eyes.

"Yeah?" He encourages her. He'll need all the information she can provide if he is to bring the creep down.

It takes Maria a few seconds to carry on, and when she finally does, Alexander is none the wiser. "He's not," she just says.

He just looks at her in confusion, hoping she'll get the hint and elaborate.

She does. "He's not a rapist. I... We fucked, but he never hurt me. I made all that up."

Alexander blinks. This can't be happening to him. "You _what_?" he asks, all of his anger and confusion and disappointment coagulating into the single syllable.

Maria notices, and shrinks into herself, ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, you will be when they send you back." He knows it's harsh, but at this point he can't really focus on anything besides his growing outrage. And to think he felt sorry for the girl. He can't believe he let her play him like this. "You know this is the end, right? I hope you're happy, you brought it on yourself after all. I mean, I was ready to set all your stupid actions aside, but this? Why on earth would you think lying to me was a good idea? And please do not take this as a rhetorical question, I really do want to know. At what point did your dumb little brain decide this was the right course of action?"

"I didn't want to lie," she tries to make excuses, her voice so close to a whisper that it almost gets lost among the noise of the unstoppable traffic. "I had to."

Alexander raises a sarcastic eyebrow. "You _had_ to? Really."

That's the last straw for Maria. "Yes, because you wouldn't help me otherwise!" she shouts, and now her voice is deep with anger and sorrow. "Because I'm in a position where everyone can do whatever the hell they want to me, and I have to go and _beg_ for someone to listen to me. To stop and see me as a person for just a second, rather than their own private property, or a fetish, or a chance to be the hero. 'cause that's what it was all about for you, wasn't it? Playing the fairy tale prince that rescues the pure, innocent girl. Well, hate to break it to you, but this ain't no fairy tale, and the princess is a liar and a slut. And if you think she deserves to be tortured for the rest of her days because of it, then I see why you so desperately need to do charity to feel good about yourself."

She’s standing in front of him, shaking with fury and sorrow, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours Alexander feels like an insensitive idiot. “You’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry. Of course you don’t deserve to go back to the treatment center. I’m just freaking out about this, because I thought I had a plan and now it’s all gone to the wind. Not that we’re hopeless,” he adds quickly. The last thing he needs is for Maria to give up. “I’ll come up with something else, I promise.”

"Thank you," she says. Then, a little hesitant again: "So you're going to help me?"

"Yeah, of course. As long as you promise not to lie to me about this stuff ever again,” he requests. He expects the opposition to pull the rug from under his feet, not his client. And today both of his clients did exactly that. Washington was right, he never should have taken this case.

"I promise," Maria says, and hugs him. It's quite intimate, her head against Alexander's chest, her arms holding tight onto him. He would object to it if it didn't feel so nice.

He also hopes this means Maria is finally opening up and putting her faith in him. She might have said she would, but after what happened it's going to take more than her word for Alexander to trust her. Even though he's ready to admit to his mistakes, it doesn't change the fact that she manipulated him into helping her. By making up a story about being raped, of all things. Angelica argued with him once that women don't lie about that one tenth of the times the patriarchy would want you to believe – and Angelica is usually right about everything.

"Hold on." Alexander pulls back, realizing something. "If Beckley didn't give you those bruises, who did?"

Maria swallows nervously before admitting: "James."

"Jesus fuck," Alexander curses. That was his first guess, but it doesn't mean he was prepared for it. The devastation Maria showed him has been imprinted in his mind for the last twenty-four hours, and to think that her husband was responsible for it makes it even worse. That's not what's making Alexander feel sick, though. "And you still walked into that courtroom with every intention to defend him?"

"Yes," Maria confirms. Then she understands that's not what he was getting at. "Me and James... it's complicated," she offers.

It's not the first time Alexander has heard something like this. He remembers his mother carefully applying make up and making up excuses, stroking Alexander's cheek with unsteady hands and telling him that his father wasn't a bad man, that one day he would understand.

Alexander didn't understand then and he sure as hell doesn't understand now.

"I bet," he snorts, and he would like to dig deeper, find out what is it that makes it okay for some girls to be stomped on over and over again, but their time is up. "We should go back."

Maria nods. "Not guilty, then?" she hazards.

"Not guilty," Alexander agrees. He looks at the door of the courthouse – they really should get going. Before they do, though, he needs to ask Maria something else. "Look, your life choices are none of my business, but if we're going to win this, we need to be a team. I need to know you're going to work with me – even if it means destroying your husband."

She doesn't answer immediately, but when she does, some of her proud fire is back in her eyes. “You saw what happened in there. He didn’t even consider talking to me about his strategy, he just went and stabbed me in the back in a room full of people.” Her voice isn’t trembling at the recollection. She’s quick to get over heartbreak – or at least to hide the hurt after the first moment of shock. “I know who to trust, and it sure as hell ain’t him.”

Alexander grins, pleased. Now he knows they're ready. "Wonderful. Let's rip them apart."


	26. In which Alexander exchanges war stories

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” is Angelica’s quite rude welcome as Alexander steps into the Archive.

For once he wishes the place weren’t so dead in the morning. If Angelica is not busy will clients, she’ll try and get him to stop for a while and chat, and while Alexander is usually very much up for it, today he’s already in enough trouble as it is.

“Yeah, I know. I’m running late,” he confesses, shameful.

He expected Angelica to ask him why, or at least to make some joke about it. Instead, she just nods and keeps busying herself with the coffee machine.

“Make it two coffees,” Alexander tells her. “Plus two Espressos, non-PDS. All four on the go.”

That finally grabs her attention enough for her to start asking questions. “Meeting a client?”

Alexander shakes his head. “No, Eliza is coming round with Theodosia so we can show her the apartment. Well, so Mulligan can,” he amends. “I’m going to deliver the coffee and bolt.”

“Right. Eliza mentioned something about it,” Angelica remembers. “So she’s really moving in?”

“If she’s satisfied with the place,” Alexander confirms.

Angelica meets his eyes for a second as she places the first two coffees in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

Alexander frowns. “About what?”

“Well, if you’re already looking for a roommate, I assume Laurens isn’t coming back.”

“Of course he is!” Alexander protests, and he knows he’s trying to convince himself as much as her. Maybe even more. “We’re not really looking for a roommate. It’s just, you know, we met Theodosia the very same night Laurens decided to leave and we figured if she needed a place to stay for a week or two she might as well take his room instead of crushing on Eliza’s couch.”

“Mm-hm,” Angelica hums. If Alexander didn’t know better, he’d say she doesn’t believe a word he just said. “So you’re leaving your room to her?”

“It’s fine.” The room kinda stopped feeling like it was his after he came back from the Reynolds arraignment three days ago and all of Laurens’ stuff was gone. “Turns out Mulligan is quite tidy if he isn’t sharing the room with Laf.”

“Well I’m glad everything is working out nicely, all things considered,” she says, putting the coffee cups into a paper bag on the bar. She pushes it closer to Alexander. “There you go. That’ll be 4,20$.”

“Thanks. You’re the best, as always.”

He drops the money on the bar and leans in to kiss her goodbye on the cheek – not something he usually does, but today he feels weird leaving so soon and he figures that will make up for it. Let her know he’d stay longer if he could.

Angelica instinctively dodges him, though, and that’s when Alexander notices the red rims of her eyes. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…” Angelica’s voice breaks, and so does her resolve to keep it quiet. “Church did it. That asshole sold his share.”

“He did _not_ ,” Alexander blurts out, appalled. Angelica has never looked more serious, though. “Fuck. Fuck him. When? And to whom?”

“He called me like an hour ago to give me the heads-up,” Angelica tells him. She’s leaning heavily on the counter, as if she didn’t have the strength to stand tall. Alexander wouldn’t either. “Said he got a cool offer from some lawyer named Jefferson. He’s going to be here in a few…”

Alexander has stopped listening, though. “Did you say Jefferson?”

“Yeah, why?” Angelica asks. Before Alexander can tell her, though, she figures it out herself. “You happen to know him?”

“I’m… kinda going against him in court, actually,” Alexander reveals, still trying to process the news himself. His rival owns his favorite bar. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean, but it certainly isn’t looking any good. “He’s representing the opposition in the Reynolds case. Oh, and he’s Purple Laf.”

Angelica looked like she believed him before, but when Alexander mentions the last fact she snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“I swear!” Alexander insists. “Trust me, I saw him in court three days ago. Those times he came to the club, he must have been taking a look around the place to see if it was worth investing into.”

“I doubt it, he was a semi-regular long before Church started threatening to sell,” Angelica muses. She looks more pensive than worried right now, which is definitely a step-up. Alexander has gotten real good at comforting his friends. “Well, if it really is him, I guess it could have been much worse. Can’t say I know him well, but he sounded like a cool guy. And hopefully he won’t get too involved with the bar if he has lawsuits to worry about.”

“Good point,” Alexander politely agrees. He isn’t feeling as good as Angelica about the whole thing. “Don’t you think that’s weird, though? Why would he buy half a bar?”

Angelica shrugs. “Maybe he came into some money and decided to invest. Maybe he’s fonder of this place than we thought and wants to help keep it afloat. Who knows. Not really gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“That’s what the Trojans said,” Alexander reminds her.

She doesn’t get it. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come on, this can’t only sound fishy to me. Two days after I meet Jefferson in court he buys my favorite bar? That can’t be a coincidence. It just can’t.”

“So you think it’s more likely that he spent thousands of dollars on property just to… what, intimidate you? Keep an eye on you when you’re out? Spit in all of your drinks?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Alexander concedes. “But trust me, it’s completely possible. I’ve seen lawyers do much worse.” Well, mostly he’s just heard of it, but he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t believe it. He doesn’t expect any less from the jerks he graduated with.

Angelica smiles at him, and that’s when Alexander realizes she’s never going to take this seriously. “You poor, paranoid soul,” she coos, condescending.

“Laugh all you want,” Alexander says, “as long as you watch your back.”

“I always do,” Angelica promises, and they part ways.

No sympathy from her, then. Alexander can’t blame her – she has enough to worry about right now without him instilling suspicion in her mind. Still, he can’t shake off the conviction that something isn’t right. Maybe he should talk to Mulligan about it. The guy sees conspiracies everywhere, Alexander can bet he won’t be so quick to dismiss his concerns about Jefferson.

Dandridge is going to be at the firm today, though, and Alexander can also bet she’ll tear him a new one if he gets there two hours late. Just because she has come to see his value it doesn’t mean she doesn’t hold him up to the highest standard these days. Quite the contrary, actually.

So he does the responsible thing, placing the coffees in Mulligan’s good hands and tearing himself away from the apartment with his own beverage. He might have actually dodged a bullet there – it doesn’t look like his roommate is all too thrilled with having to be stuck showing the ladies round all on his own.

“Cheer up,” Alexander tries to lift his spirit. “You’re doing the Lord’s work here, giving a poor girl a roof above her head.”

Mulligan snorts. “Remind me why _you_ can’t do it?”

“‘cause I’m a diligent employee that sticks to his schedule and you're a student with way too much free time on his hands.” 

“Yeah, yeah. But I seem to remember that this was your idea.”

“It was Laurens’, actually,” Alexander reminds him. “Feel free to give him a call and demand he does the tour in your place. I have to go to work.”

“You traitor!” Mulligan shouts after him, but he doesn’t sound mad, and Alexander has no time to stick around anyway. He has responsibilities.

Responsibilities that turn out to be answering a hundred emails, proofreading a complaint another lawyer wrote (which basically means re-writing it from scratch), and getting both Washington and Dandridge coffee, which is just demeaning. He isn’t surprised, unfortunately – the bosses weren’t too happy when he took the Reynolds case without their explicit permission to do so, and he’s been stuck on paperwork duty as a punishment since then. Alexander totally gets their need to rule the firm with an iron fist, especially considering that they’re surrounded by incompetent slackers, but he’d really like to go back to work before the firm gets an even worse reputation or he dies of boredom or both.

The one upside of the situation is that with so little to do, he gets to focus his energies on the Reynolds case. And he really needs that, because things aren’t looking too good on that front. The actual trial is supposed to take place in three weeks and Alexander is struggling to build a strong case in Maria’s favor now that James is threatening to spill every wrong thing she’s done.

Because it looks like Beckley wasn’t the first schmuck Bonnie and Clyde ever blackmailed. They were in the business of swindling any idiot who’d fall for their tricks long before Maria got shot and miraculously came back to life. Whether she’s still trying to protect her abusive piece of shit of a husband, Alexander couldn’t say, but Maria denies having ever being coerced into doing anything illegal.

He’s trying to translate the complaint from “I Watch The Good Wife A Lot” to actual legal jargon and simultaneously worrying about Maria when he gets a text. He can’t help smiling as he reads the sender’s ID.

 

You’re kidding me, right? O-o

 So he lives! 

I should have known it would take a mention of your crush to get you to finally reply to me

I’ve been busy =/

You’re kidding tho, right? about Jeff buying the bar?

I really wish you stopped calling him that 

But no 

’Tis all true

 Holy shit *O*

That a good thing?

Dunno. Angie seemed relieved when she found out 

I don’t trust him tho

Smart 

Whole thing’s fishy

That’s what I said 

You better keep an eye on him

A close eye ;]

Don’t let him out your sight ;]]]

If I didn’t know better I’d think you want me to fuck your crush

He’s NOT my crush 

But that’d be totally hot

OH 

MY 

GOD

 what

You’re disgusting

I’m not

You’re just pissed ‘cause I’m not jealous

How’s the damsel, btw?

Dude, if you were the jealous type you’d be a hypocrite on top of being disgusting

 And don’t joke about that, I could get in serious trouble

 

Touché ;P

So you coming back yet?

You do realize I've been gone for two days

Three

Two

And a half

 And so what? I haven't gone a single day without seeing you since we met, and now all of a sudden you're miles away and won't even tell me when you'll be back  

It's traumatic

 

Please. Let's review the facts, shall we?

1\. you're super hot

2\. you're brilliant

3\. your official mojo killer is out of town

I'm never going to believe you're having trouble finding a hook-up

Thanks for the pep talk, but I don’t really miss the sex. I miss my best friend

Aww =‘]

Jackass

;P

Look, I don’t know how long it’s gonna be. A while

Father’s already talking to me, tho, so there’s hope

Awesome 

You told him about Laf yet?

He already knew

The campaign made more noise than I thought

I TOLD you it wasn’t a waste of time

Yeah, yeah. How could I ever doubt you

So what does he say?

Still thinks if they shipped him away they must have had a good reason D:

Damn

But he’s been willing to discuss it with me, which is more than I expected from him

Good 

Brainwash him, I believe in you 

Thank you ;D

You at work?

Yup

 Fighting the good fight against paperwork

Lol

Don’t mock my pain

Don’t quote The Princess Bride when I can’t kiss you for it

(Jk keep doing it I’m so proud of ya <3)

Thanks

 I hate myself, so I hope it’s worth it

It is

Gotta split, but how about I call you tonight and we pick up from here?

Geeky phone sex? 

Oh what the hell, let’s try it

You’re the best :D

Don’t you go forgetting that

 

Paperwork seems a little less tedious after that. If there’s one upside to Laurens’ elusiveness, it’s that when he finally does reply to Alexander’s texts it’s guaranteed to brighten his day – so much so that he can even endure his co-workers’ writing without wanting to blow his head off.

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the case. No matter how hard he thinks about it, he can’t seem to find a way out. Things weren’t looking too bright for them before James decided to rat Maria out – Beckley would never have risked wrecking his marriage and career if he hadn’t been sure of winning, after all, and now, now it’s plain desperate. The best strategy Alexander can come up with is putting James into a bad light, painting him as an unreliable witness, but he knows the chances of it working are slim. He might be a drunk and a scoundrel, but he’s male and alive and what he’s saying is the fucking truth, so the court is going to drink up every word he says.

Then there’s Beckley, of course. Untouchable Beckley. No matter how deep he looks into it, Alexander can’t find a single fault in the guy’s conduct other than the whole reproachable affair with one of his models, and a PDS one at that. It seems to have been an isolated case, though, the only slip in an otherwise spotless life. Going through the trouble of contacting his family and half a dozen models that worked with him only provides Alexander with one verdict – the guy was a family man, a true professional, and it’s a damn shame he fell for that undead whore’s tricks.

It’s dark outside when Alexander is done with the emails and the investigations, and he’s none the wiser. He shoots Laurens a text, asking if he’s still up for a chat or something more exciting, but there’s no answer. Alexander isn’t even surprised anymore.

Awesome, so he’s left with a choice between burying himself in work to forget about Laurens being a closed-off dick to him once more or calling his friend and yelling at him to distract himself from this terrible case he’s never going to win. Both options look equally dreadful, and still more enticing than the prospect of going home to his empty bed and the ghosts of the people he’s failing.

One thing’s for sure, though – he is not going to get through it without a beer. It’s ten to seven, which means if he doesn’t dilly-dally he can get to the shop and back before Glenn finishes cleaning up and locks the place. By now the guy has gotten used to Alexander working overtime, so he usually just leaves him the spare key with a threatening look and a stale reminder to lock the door behind him when he’s done.

Alexander didn’t notice before, holed up in the office and engrossed in his work as he was, but there’s a storm coming. The wind has picked up, shaking the tops of the trees and sending everything flying around – all kinds of trash, newspapers, old and new, even a hat. Thunder roars in the distance. It’s not raining yet, but it’s going to start to very soon.

Alexander doesn’t mind. He stands tall even as the wind whips viciously all around him, breathing in the unique scent of the spring evening, and can’t help thinking of home and death and second chances.

The phone rings two seconds after he enters the shop, and he picks up eagerly, ready to forgive Laurens for disappearing on him like that. He’s kinda disappointed when it’s Mulligan’s voice he hears on the other end.

“It’s safe to come home, you know,” he doesn’t waste time in pleasantries. “The British Invasion ended a few hours ago.”

Alexander smiles. “So how did she enjoy the tour? I hope you abided by the sacred rules of hospitality.”

“I did,” Mulligan assures. The _unlike someone else_ goes unsaid. “And she did. But she still ain’t moving in.”

“What?” Alexander asks, surprised, stopping with the six-pack of beer he picked up still in his hand. “Why not?”

“Not sure. I got to the part where she wouldn’t have to pay anything ‘cause Gal already took care of it, all we’d need to do is talk to Burr and make him sympathetic to her cause so he doesn’t go spilling everything to administration, which let’s be real he’s not going to do because he even found it in his cold, cowardly heart to protect _you_ , and she very calmly informed me that that wouldn’t work for her.”

That doesn’t sound quite right. “Seriously? Just like that?”

“Yeah just like that. Eliza was as surprised as I was.”

“And everything else was fine with her?”

“I think so,” Mulligan replies. He’s starting to sound a little defensive. “I even told her we could all split the remaining rent if she wasn’t comfortable living off a dead guy’s money, but she was unmovable.”

“So she’d rather sleep on a couch at a friend’s house?” Alexander can’t help finding it crazy.

Mulligan probably agrees, but he seems to have made his peace with the girl’s decision. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I tried.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alexander sighs, finally walking up to the checkout counter. “Oh well, it’s her loss.”

“Yep,” Mulligan agrees. “So you planning on ever coming home or should I start looking for someone to replace you too?”

Alexander bites his lip and can’t help feeling guilty about leaving his friend all alone. He’s not the only one who misses Laurens and Lafayette, after all. “I am coming home,” he promises. “Just not yet.”

On the other end, Mulligan snorts. “Awesome.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just this case, you know? I need to come up with something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mulligan grumbles. Then: “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

“I’ll do my best,” Alexander promises, and ends the call.

There’s no queue at the register, so he gets to pay quickly and rush back to the firm, but it’s still too late. Glenn has already left, locking the door behind him and Alexander out. And it’s finally starting to rain.

“Fuck no,” Alexander protests, relentlessly pressing the button. Nobody answers it, though, and in the end he just has to concede defeat, dropping down on the steps in front of the door like some bum.

Unfortunately for him, he’s too stubborn to give up for good, so he just sits there for a while, drinking his beer right from the bottle and mentally cursing Mulligan for calling just at the worst possible time and Glenn for being so damn on schedule. He’s at the end of his first beer and still debating whether to try and get some work done here or take his misfortune as a giant glowing sign from the universe that he should just call it a day and go home when somebody calls his name.

“Hamilton?”

Oh shit _no_. He was already feeling pitiful enough without his boss seeing him like this. But there he is – Washington, the mocking image of what an actual adult should look like right outside of their workplace. He even thought of bringing an umbrella, in spite of the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in sight this morning.

“Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Alexander says quickly, jumping to his feet and doing his best (which, alas, isn’t that good) to conceal the alcohol. “I just got locked out, nothing to worry about. What are _you_ doing here?” he tries to steer the conversation into a path that’s slightly less embarrassing for him.

Washington lets him, thank god. “Oh. I simply left some papers behind.” He opens the door and invites Alexander to follow him. “Come in, please. I won’t have our best lawyer loiter in front of the door looking like a wet rat.”

Which, ouch, but also kinda fair. Alexander grumbles something intelligible and complies.

Washington’s disapproving stare is still fixed on him when they’re inside, though, and there’s only so much Alexander can take.

“What?” he blurts out.

“Were you drinking that?” his boss asks, eyeing the bottles Alexander is still holding with the grave expression Alexander is so good at getting out of him.

“Oh. Yes, I’m sorry,” Alexander admits. He doesn’t feel like he’s really in the wrong here, though. “But come on, it’s just beer. And I wasn’t even drinking it _in_ the office, so I think it’s fair to say that…”

Unfortunately, Washington doesn’t seem to be in the mood to listen to his reasons. “Follow me,” he commands, and starts walking in the direction of his office.

Alexander goes with him. Not much else he can do, right? Plus, he’s a big boy, he’s definitely _not_ afraid of Washington. Not most of the time, at least.

“Have a seat, please,” the boss offers, pointing at the chair in front of his desk before walking past it to go look inside one of his cabinets.

Alexander sits down, but he’s having a hard time keeping still. If Washington is planning on giving him one of his trademark lectures on how he’s too gifted to jeopardize his career with this kind of childish behavior and he needs to get a grip and start acting like a professional, he chose the wrong night to do it. There’s a really good chance Alexander won’t last two minutes before his temper gets the best of him and he quits out of spite and exhaustion.

Washington’s tone is calm, though, even too much so, as he sets a bottle of Scotch and two glasses on his desk. “How are you doing, Hamilton?”

“What?” Alexander asks dumbly. That wasn’t the question he was expecting. At least he’s quick to recover. “What do you mean?”

Washington doesn’t buy it. “Exactly what I said. How are you doing?”

“Mm… Okay, I guess?”

“You _guess_?”

Is he… is he trying to connect with him? Alexander takes it all back, he wants the tirade. A long convoluted speech about how smarts will only get you so far in life, what you really need to succeed is hard work and discipline and back in my day blah blah blah. Anything but this.

Washington is still staring expectantly at him, though, with the somber expression that means he’s bracing himself for a long, exhausting round of verbal sparring with Alexander, and Alexander knows deflecting is just going to make this longer and more painful.

“Yeah, you know.” He searches for the words that can most reassure his boss without making him feel like Alexander is lying to him. “Things aren’t ideal, but when have they been? We can only soldier on, right.”

Washington pours himself a glass – the other one stays empty. Looks like Alexander hasn’t revealed enough to deserve the alcohol.

That’s fine, he doesn’t need the alcohol, can he just please leave?

Apparently not. “Look, what do you want me to say? One of my best friends is probably being tortured as we speak for no other reason than being PDS, another went into voluntary exile to help him out and I can’t shake this paranoid feeling that I’m part of the reason he decided to flee, the only place that ever felt like home to me suddenly belongs to a living jackass that I’m going to have to face in court next month and oh, yes, I promised a young girl to fucking save her life and I don’t have a clue _how_ to do it. But, you know, at least I have a job, and a roof above my head, and I’m in a position where people come asking me for help instead of the other way round, so yes, _I guess_ , I guess I’m doing kind of okay even though you can bet I’m not feeling it.”

It all comes out in a rush, one angry, frustrated rush to the finish line. He’s tired – not of fighting, but of feeling like the fight is pointless. Like it wouldn’t make the slightest difference if he just gave up.

Washington just nods and finally pours him a drink, too. Alexander wants to kick him. So now he enjoyed the show, yeah? The soul baring was sincere, it was entertaining enough for him? Privileged heartless living, getting a kick out of listening to other people’s misery and pretending to understand it. Alexander has never been shy, he’d voice his feelings without thinking twice if his accusations didn’t sound so much like the ones he’s heard Mulligan direct to Laurens, repeatedly and not always fairly. And he can’t do that. No matter how much Washington pushes him, he’s not going to become one of those scared PDS people that see every single living as the enemy.

“Is it my turn to ask questions, now?” he challenges Washington, ignoring the Scotch sitting invitingly in front of him. God knows he’d need a drink with how wound up he is, but he isn’t going to give Washington the satisfaction of seeing him down it like his non-life depended on it. “What do you care how I’m doing? You’re my boss, not my friend. You shouldn’t give a second thought about my personal life unless it affects my work – which it clearly doesn’t, ‘cause last time I checked, I was still the best employee you have. So why don’t you get off my case and start asking Conway why he can’t…”

“Hamilton, relax,” Washington tells him, which normally would only upset him more. What he says next, though, does subdue him a little. “I’m not trying to punish you, and I’m sorry if you felt that way. I merely wanted to have a drink with you.”

“Oh.” That’s as unexpected as his boss giving him the third degree about his feelings. Can tonight get any more fucked up? Mulligan would probably say he deserved it for not coming straight home like he suggested, but Mulligan is a jackass. Nobody deserves this. “Why?”

Then Washington takes a swig of his Scotch and confesses: “I’m terrified for him”, and Alexander finally, finally gets it. He’s got this all wrong.

Washington dragging him here, it’s not about Alexander. It’s about Washington, and whatever he and Lafayette had, and coping with his loss. In retrospect, Alexander should be surprised it took him so long to crack.

“I keep thinking back to your article I read this past November,” Washington carries on. “All the sickening practices it described. All that psychological torture. Do you think they’re doing it to Lafayette?”

Alexander doesn’t believe in sugarcoating things – well, unless he’s speaking in court. “I know it.” He finally relents and starts drinking from his own glass. It’s a PDS brand, one that costs way more than Alexander can afford and tastes a little too good. “That’s not even the worst thing that can happen to him, though. You know what I’m really terrified about? That we’re going to be to late. That when we do get him back, he won’t be himself anymore.”

Washington nods. If he’s read the article, he’s probably considered the possibility already. “How long do you think we have before that happens?”

“Hard to say. I’ve only talked to two people who got out. One had been there for four months and had all the tics you can imagine, but was mostly fine mentally. The other was released within a month and was still struggling with PTSD. Like, really struggling.”

“And that’s it? That’s all the people who were ever released?”

“That’s all the people who were in the condition to have a conversation with me after being released,” Alexander amends, and he could swear he sees Washington pale as he realizes the implications.

“We must do something,” he decides. As if all this time Alexander and the others had just been sitting on their asses half-heartedly praying for a miracle. 

“We are,” Alexander reminds him, peeved.

“I mean something more. Don’t you have contacts inside the treatment center? The ones who let you document their barbarian practices?”

“They’re not that high up on the food chain,” Alexander explains. “They already risked a lot smuggling out the material I used for the article, and that was just videos, pictures, stuff like that. They’re never getting a real, live, and possibly untreated person out of there. Besides,” he adds, “no one I know works at the Albany center. Well, one did, but she quit short after she helped me out. Couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I bet.” Washington leans back, defeated, and downs the rest of his drink. “So what you’re telling me is that there is nothing we can do.”

Alexander shakes his head. “No, we can do a lot. We got two million signatures, both with online petitions and by knocking on doors. We’re writing a dozen letters a day. We’re planning to have a second march, a well-organized one this time. We’re not letting anyone forget about Laf.” It’s all true, and he’s proud of it, but he can’t shake off Laurens’ voice in his head telling him _It’s not enough_. Worst part is, he’s probably right. “The thing is, though, none of these things is guaranteed to get him out quickly – if ever.”

Washington nods, lost in thought. “Of course. I didn’t mean to offend you, I know you are doing everything you can.” Well. Looks like he’s getting a little better at noticing when he’s being a jerk. Kudos to the old man. “If anyone deserves reproach, it’s me. I have done so little to help him.”

“You’re doing your best,” Alexander reassures him. Yup, this night is definitely fucking weird. “I know you’re one of the good guys. And Laf knew it too.” He realizes one second too late that he used the past tense and grimaces.

“I know.” Washington smiles sadly. “He was… he _is_ almost too forgiving for his own sake. Loyal, too, and sensitive. Maybe too much so.”

“He’s also smart and strong,” Alexander points out, because he doesn’t like the turn the conversation is taking. “If anyone can come out of a treatment center in one piece, that’s him.”

“I really hope so.” He pours them both another drink, the corner of his mouth turned down. “What strange, horrifying times we live in,” he muses. “I understand fear – I have personally shot thirty-seven people during the Rising and while I’m not proud of it, I do realize it was necessary. What they’re doing in those places, though… I cannot find a reason for it other than a sick fascination with violence coupled with a thirst for revenge.”

“That’s right, you fought in the War,” Alexander remembers, and if the disgust is clear in his voice, all the better. “You volunteered.” 

“I wanted to protect my hometown,” Washington offers, unapologetic. “You’re a well informed man, I’m sure you’ve done some research into what the mindset was like at the time. There was no talk of Partially Deceased Syndrome, no disease that could be studied and eventually cured, only a curse. We didn’t know what was making the dead rise and prompted them to attack, and we didn’t dare to dream there was a way to get them to stop – other than putting a bullet in their skull, of course. So that was what you had to do if you wanted to protect your family.”

“I know that,” Alexander dismisses Washington’s excuses. “But why is it that you get to brush it off as, _We had to_ , and we have to live every second of the rest of our lives consumed by guilt? ‘cause that’s what they ask of us. Cover yourselves, be ashamed. Do your affirmations, be ashamed.”

“I believed affirmations were supposed to help you forgive yourselves for what you might have done in your untreated state?” Washington interjects.

Alexander snorts. “On paper, maybe. But you must see that they feed into this whole gracious victor rhetoric. Yes, you’re all sick and wrong and guilty, but us living in our magnanimity have elected to forgive you. Just let us dictate your lives, and remember your crimes always so you also remember that you owe us for not putting you down like the rabid dogs you are.” Shit, he’s talking too much. He shouldn’t have had all that Scotch after the beer. “Did you know that they don’t even let you leave the treatment center if you don’t get horrible traumatizing flashbacks in which you’re maiming people? I should know, I’d still be in there if I hadn’t figured that out. No, that place is not about getting better, it’s about guilt. And shame. And it only gets worse when you’re out and everyone thinks they’re better than you just because their heart still beats and all and god forbid you prove them wrong. But they’re all terrified of it. They’re terrified that we’re the ones that are right and they’re the ones that are wrong, and that’s why they try to keep us down and so full of guilt. ‘cause we’re stronger and we don’t grow old and we’ll live forever and we don’t need half the shit you do to keep going, so really, it makes sense to say that we’re the superior race, doesn’t it? And when we can finally look past the guilt and realize that, when we finally do that, god help you.”

He makes to down the rest of his Scotch and finds that his glass is empty. Washington doesn’t give him a refill, though, he only fixes him with a stare Alexander can’t quite read. He must be mad, though, right? When Alexander talks for so long, people usually end up getting mad. Unless they’re Angelica or Lafayette or Laurens or… goddamn, does he miss his friends.

Mad as he must be, anyway, Washington doesn’t raise his voice. “You’re starting to sound like a member of the ULA,” he points out, and he definitely sounds disappointed. Angry, not so much.

Of course, Alexander takes it as an invitation to provoke him further. “Well, maybe they’re not so wrong about some things.”

“You should be more careful,” Washington warns. “Do you speak like this when you’re out? At Angelica’s bar, for instance?”

“Have you met me? I speak like I want wherever I want. I have every right to.”

“No, you don’t,” Washington counters, and there it is, the anger mounting in his voice. “You think they won’t send you away too if they hear you say those kinds of things? When are you going to stop gambling with your life?”

“Sir…” Alexander starts. He might have gone a little too far. He only wanted to get a reaction out of him, start a proper fight. Instead, it looks like he worried the hell out of Washington.

“I swear I don’t understand you and your friends,” he keeps going, ignoring Alexander’s feeble attempt at placating him. “How can people so bright be so reckless? We have already lost Lafayette because of your insouciance, I won’t stand for it to happen to you as well. You’re too important.”

“Nobody makes photocopies quite like me, do they?” Alexander jokes, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to have to admit that his out-of-touch, condescending boss is actually moving him.

The deflection works. “I told you, the photocopies are temporary. I really do believe you’re going to do great things – provided you live long enough,” Washington adds poignantly.

“I know,” Alexander says. He doesn’t feel like messing around anymore. “Thank you.”

Washington raises a hand. “I’m not saying this just to flatter your ego. I’m saying it because I believe it, and because I really do want you to be more careful. It’s in the firm’s best interest, but mostly, it’s in yours.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alexander says again. “I’ll try, okay? I just don’t believe in not speaking my mind. And the Rising is kind of a touchy subject for me.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up, then.” Washington hesitates only for a moment before pouring himself another Scotch. He’s about to do the same for Alexander when Alexander raises his hand to stop him. He figures he’s already had enough for tonight. “If it makes it better, I agree with you. Not that PDS sufferers shouldn’t remember their killings – but that we should, too. What we did back in those days might have been necessary, but that doesn’t make it right.” He raises his glass to his lips, asks: “Do you know when the War ended?”

“Officially? June 8th, 2014,” Alexander provides. Just because he was still a rabid at the time it doesn’t mean he didn’t study his history later. “The day it was announced that the state of emergency was revoked and people could resume their normal lives, because the number of rabid PDS sufferers on the loose was too low to be considered a threat.”

Washington nods. “There were celebrations all over the country. And the most valiant soldiers who had fought in the War were awarded medals, as you probably already know.”

“Yeah,” Alexander confirms, and he can feel himself start to get annoyed again.

“I received one too. With an official ceremony and everything. And I was honored to be there, you know? It may seem vain, and maybe it is a little, but the War had been a nightmare. So knowing my presence there hadn’t been for nothing, that people were grateful for what I had been through, it really mattered to me.” He opens one of his desk drawers (the bottom one, judging by how he has to bend to reach it) and takes something out of it. It’s a small rectangular frame with a medal in it, all set and ready to be hung on the wall.

Except Washington never put it on display, he just stashed it in a drawer.

“Why’d you keep it hidden there?” Alexander wants to know. “If you’re so proud of it. Shouldn’t you want everyone to see it?” He’s seen both of the man’s offices, he knows he’s hardly the modest type when it comes to his achievements.

“Look at the colors,” Washington tells him. “Do you know them?”

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t. He can only recognize the most well-known military awards, so the combination of black, gray and shades of pink in Washington medal looks perfectly foreign to him.

“Nope,” he admits. “What do they mean?”

“Distinguished Eradication Service,” Washington informs him. He looks as disgusted as Alexander feels. “It was introduced especially for the Undead War, and awarded to the voluntary soldiers that killed an impressive number of _fiends_.”

The worst part is, Alexander is only surprised that he hadn’t heard of this atrocity before.

“I only found out at the ceremony, or I wouldn’t have attended. But there I was, looking forward to being commended for voluntarily putting myself at risk for the common good, and instead they tell me it’s all about the number of people I have killed. People I used to know, for the most part. My own cousin was one of them, and my priest, and the lady who owned the newsstand in my street. All dead a second time because of me. All through the ceremony I had to fight the urge to tell them. Tell them it was human beings I had had to kill, that they would still be with us if only we’d known earlier that there was a cure. And I couldn’t stop thinking, _This isn’t right. They shouldn’t be giving me a medal for that_.”

“And still you accepted it,” Alexander says. He’s always known Washington wasn’t a bad person, but what use is knowing what’s right if you keep it to yourself?

“I did,” Washington admits. “More than anything, I wanted to put the War behind me. And I only believed the medal to be a tactless gesture on their part – all the PDS sufferers were either dead or in a treatment center at the time, so it was still too early to see it for the political statement it really was.”

“I still think you should have said something,” Alexander insists. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. What matters is that we fight now.”

Washington nods. “I agree. I’m going to do everything in my power to help Lafayette. And as for the case you’re working on…” He trails off.

“Yeah?” Alexander encourages him.

“You’ve done good work today. I think you can go back to giving your undivided attention to cases – starting with the Reynolds’ one.”

“Really? But it’s not bringing any money into the firm,” Alexander reminds him, because self-sabotaging is his specialty.

“It isn’t,” Washington agrees. “But if you win it, it’s going to give us good publicity, and that is guaranteed to bring us money in the near future.”

It’s a far-fetched reasoning, and Washington must know it. This is not about the money, present or future, it’s about him trying to make amends for everything he’s done and not done. It might be a small step, but it’s definitely in the right direction.

“Go win that case, Hamilton. I know you can.”


	27. In which Alexander asks for help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know if anyone's still around after my disappearance, but in case you are – I'm so sorry about the delay, I had a really rough couple of weeks =/ We finally get some good news in this chapter, though, so I hope that makes up for it ^^

“Is it working? Is he online?”

“Yeah, relax, I’m making the call now.”

“I am relaxed, I just can’t see a damn thing!”

“Sorry. Better now?”

“Yep. Thank you.”

“Come on, Alexander, make the call. Some people have to work.”

“I _am_ calling, it’s not my fault he’s not pick…”

Before Alexander can finish the sentence, Laurens’ face materializes on the screen. Almost as if he heard him and picked up the call just to contradict him. Alexander wouldn’t put it past his best friend, honestly.

A couple of seconds go by before anyone says a thing. It’s the first time they see each other since Laurens left over a week ago and Alexander needs a moment to bask in it, take in the sight of his bright eyes and full lips and the patterns of freckles he so misses chasing across his skin.

He’s a little surprised at how good his friend looks. Not attractive, Laurens has always been that, but _good_. Healthy. Alexander assumed he’d be miserable so far away from him and the rest of the gang, but it seems that staying at home has actually helped him. It’s unexpected, and great, and a little sad.

Laurens has his own amount of shock to get over. He’s the one who suggested they Skype’d tonight (not without some pressure on Alexander’s part, mind you), but he sure wasn’t expecting Alexander to gather all their friends for the event.

“ _Hiiiiii Laurens!_ ” they all exclaim at the same time, Alexander and Mulligan and Angelica and Eliza, all four smushed together in an only partially successful attempt at fitting into the screen.

“The fuck,” Laurens reacts. “Thanks for the heads-up, Hams. What if I’d been naked?”

Angelica turns up her nose. “ _Gross_.”

“Good to see you too, jerkface,” Mulligan grumbles.

“Sorry, sorry,” Laurens apologizes. “Let’s have a do-over, shall we? Hi, guys, great to see you. How’s everyone doing?”

“Much better,” Alexander approves, nodding.

“Terrible,” Angelica answers the question. “Do you know Jefferson co-owns the Archive now?”

“Yeah, Hams told me about it. I thought you liked the guy, though?”

“ _Like_ is a strong word. I just thought he might make a decent business partner, but as it turns out, our Alexander was right about him. He’s the worst.”

This comes as a shock to Alexander as well. He’s only seen Angelica a couple of times in the last week, and she’s never complained about Jefferson.

“I knew it!” he exclaims before he remembers that maybe he shouldn’t sound so excited when Jefferson might be turning Angelica’s dream job into a living hell. That’s horrible, of course. He just loves being right. “So what’s his angle? Is he trying to get you to spill my dirty secrets so he can force me to blow the trial? Or does he know that’s never going to work and he’s planning to put Blue Oblivion or something in my drink and have me dragged away before…”

“What? No,” Angelica interrupts him. She’s looking at him like he’s crazy, and unfortunately, she isn’t the only one. “Of course not! God. Are you hearing yourself right now?"

"But you said..."

"I said he's the worst, not that he's some kind of Cold War spy out for your blood. Not everything's got to be about you, you know."

“Say it louder for the people in the back,” Mulligan jokes, and gets punched in the shoulder for it. Laurens is laughing, but Alexander chooses to believe it’s because he’s enjoying their bickering, not because he agrees with Mulligan.

“God, I missed you guys,” Laurens eventually says, still grinning. “So what has Jeff done that’s so terrible, apart from awakening Hams’ paranoia?”

Angelica makes a face. “He’s… pushing to have some measures introduced. Which could have been a good thing, business is plummeting and I’m all in favor of trying to make the bar more appealing to living costumers once again. The problem is, if I listened to Jefferson that would come at the expenses of the PDS clientele.”

“Say what?” Alexander asks, at the same time as Laurens makes a disappointed noise with his throat and Mulligan bursts out: “You’re kidding, right?” Eliza is the only one who seems untouched by the news. Probably because it’s no news to her.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Angelica reassures them. “I told him to shove it. All patrons are equal in here.”

Laurens nods his approval. “Damn right.”

“You like us best, though, right?” Alexander asks with a smirk that makes Eliza burst out laughing but leaves Angelica unimpressed.

“You keep telling yourself that,” she says, and gives him a condescending pat on the shoulder. She turns to Laurens, then. “Anyways. I can handle Jefferson, but if you were to hurry back, work that magic of yours that gets boys all eager to please you, and get him off my case, I sure wouldn’t complain.”

“Consider it done,” Laurens plays along with a smirk and a wink.

“Come on, guys, I’m standing right here!” Alexander complains without really meaning it. He’s not so paranoid to think Laurens and Jefferson are ever happening. More importantly, he’s done pretending he and Laurens could ever be exclusive. That’s the one upside of their being apart – he’s finally enjoying this thing between them for the casual arrangement it was always meant to be. If they couldn’t make it work when they spent every second together, there’s no reason to think they can do it now that they’re miles away from each other.

Still, at least now Alexander doesn’t have to be reminded all the time that he isn’t enough. He doesn’t have to see Laurens hit on other guys and kiss them and have the time of his life with them. He knows it’s happening, of course, but it’s not right in his face, which means he can avoid thinking about it and enjoy what little time together he and Laurens can get. It’s actually the most confident and relaxed Alexander has felt about the whole thing since Laurens told him he wasn’t looking for a serious relationship.

“Don’t worry, Alexander,” Angelica pretends to reassure him. “I just want them to get married. That way when I flip and kill Jefferson, I know his shares are going to Johnny and he can kindly gift them back to me.”

“And I could cheat on him with you all the time, that’d be hot,” Laurens contributes.

“There’s nothing hot about cheating,” Eliza protests.

“You sure you want that arrangement?” Mulligan asks Angelica. “He’s going to make you let him drink here for free for the rest of his days, that’s gotta be bad for business.”

“Come on, Eliza. You can say it isn’t right, but that has nothing to do with it. The sneaking around, the stolen moments, the whole star-crossed feel of it all – it’s undeniably hot. Am I right, Hams?”

“Well, let’s look on the bright side, if he keeps drinking like this _the rest of his days_ is not going to be long enough to bankrupt me.”

Laurens gives Angelica a wounded look. “Not cool, Angie.”

Alexander has already started answering his question, though, and he isn’t going to stop talking just because Laurens isn’t paying attention anymore. Besides, Eliza is still looking at him expectantly. “I don’t know, man. No matter how good the sex is, I don’t think it’s worth all the pain and guilt that come afterwards.”

Eliza smiles at him, with pride and a little surprise. As if she didn’t expect Alexander to take her side against Laurens’. Which is ridiculous – Alexander might be crazy about Laurens, but he isn’t so blinded by love that he thinks he could ever be a better person than Eliza.

“Tough love,” Angelica shrugs. “I’m poking fun at you so you’ll understand drinking so much isn’t as cool as you think and go cold turkey.”

“Do you hear her, Mulligan? And _I’m_ the one who’d be bad for business here? How about the bartender who keeps trying to bully people into giving up their drinking?”

“Yeah, I think this whole establishment needs some serious work,” Mulligan decides.

“Ugh. You guys are starting to sound like Jefferson,” Angelica complains. “Laurens, my dear, it was a real joy seeing your face again, but I’m afraid duty calls. Try not to drink all of the South dry, alright?” she can’t resist cracking one last joke at him.

“You kidding me? No way I can put up with these people sober,” he shoots back.

“You’re such a hipster.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Touché.”

Angelica heads for the bar, where – hear, hear – a patron has appeared and seems to be looking to buy something. Alexander expected Eliza to go with her, but it looks like she’s okay where she is for now.

“How are things at home, then?” she asks Laurens. “I know moving back can be a little disorienting.”

Alexander can’t help smiling to himself. _Our Eliza, always the compassionate one._

“It’s been good, actually,” Laurens says after a moment of reflection. “Way better than I thought. Don’t get me wrong, I’m super stressed because of all the stuff I’m going to have to catch up with as soon as I go back to uni and I miss you guys like hell, but I…don’t hate being with my family?”

“It’s always better when you go back,” Mulligan offers. Then, because everyone is staring at him: “Or so I hear.”

“True.” Laurens lights up, then. “Anyways. Guys, I didn’t call just ‘cause I was starting to forget your faces. I… have news. Big ones.”

“They’re turning _Good Omens_ into a TV show?” Alexander can’t resist poking fun at him.

“Don’t toy with my feelings,” Laurens shushes him. “No, my father finally agreed to talk to his good buddy Anderson and long story short, you guys get to pay a visit to Laf.”

As one might expect, their reaction to the news is everything but calm and collected – so much so that even Angelica, who by now is perfectly used to their shenanigans, turns to them with a questioning look in her eyes.

“Lafayette,” Eliza informs her, running to her with the biggest smile shining on her face. “We’re getting visitations.”

“ _What?_ ” Angelica meets her halfway and they hug, shrieking excitedly the whole way through.

Mulligan is shooting daggers at Laurens, but even he can’t look menacing when he’s so obviously overjoyed. “You fucker. Why the hell didn’t you open with that?!”

“How’s it going to work?” Alexander wants to know. “Is there a day when we can just show up or do we have to call in advance? Can we bring him anything? And why did you say _a visit_ , is it just a one-time thing?”

Laurens bites his lip at that last question. “Afraid so. My father wants to see him before he decides if he wants to help him get released, but he can’t be bothered to go all the way to Albany himself so he asked Anderson for a video. I told him that wouldn’t be fair, how can he assess Laf’s mental state when he’s in a terrifying place surrounded by people he doesn’t know, and we settled for him watching a video of Laf during his visitations.”

“Good thinking,” Mulligan approves.

“See, sometimes even I have good ideas,” Laurens quips, and he looks so pleased and something tightens in Alexander’s chest. He’s so proud of his friend, and it was about damn time they got one piece of good news.

“Seriously,” he joins in, “great job, man.”

He thinks he sees Laurens blush, but it’s hard to tell just by the picture on the screen. “Thank you. I gave them your number, Mulls, so someone’s going to contact you in a day or two and you can set a date.”

Mulligan nods.

“Remember, it’s got to be on a Thursday,” Alexander points out. “It’s the only day we can hope to catch a PDS bus to Albany.”

“That’s right. Man, those PDS lines are such a scam,” Mulligan groans.

“Tell me about it.”

“Actually,” Eliza interjects, “I was thinking I could drive you. If you guys don’t mind.”

“Mind? That’d be awesome.” Alexander lights up, and she can’t help smiling back at him. “You sure it’s not a problem?”

She shrugs. “Philip and I haven’t lost a single day of school this year, I think we can afford to take one off. I can drop you off at the treatment center and take him to see his grandparents while you visit Lafayette.”

They all thank her – Laurens included. It’s strange, because if anyone else in the group were the one owning a car, it would come without saying that they’d drive all the others. With Eliza, though, it feels like she’s doing them a favor, as if they were the only ones who care about Laf, or if she were an outsider. It sucks, and Alexander feels terrible about it because he knows how much she’d like to be part of their big family. And she is, of course. Just in a different way than everyone else.

If she’s hurt by their reaction, she doesn’t show it. “Don’t mention it, I really do want to help. Just let me know the date as soon as you hear from the treatment center, okay? I have to tell the principal I’m taking the day off.”

“Got it,” Mulligan promises. “Thanks again.”

Eliza gives him a single nod and joins Angelica at the bar.

“Such a classy girl,” Laurens muses. “What you guys waiting to put a ring on her finger?”

“What?” Alexander and Mulligan ask in unison, both totally weirded out by the randomness of the question.

“What, you’re both into girls, _she’s_ a girl, seems pretty straightforward to me,” Laurens plays it cool, and he almost sounds convinced that what he’s saying makes any sense.

Alexander is tempted to ignore him and move on to more serious issues, aka literally anything else, but in the end he can’t pass up the opportunity to argue with his best friend just for the sake of it. “You do know that’s not how it works, right? We’re not animals in the mating season, we’re not going to marry someone just ‘cause we’re into their gender.”

“Well, you straight people assume it of us all the time.”

Alexander can’t see his own eyes, but he’s pretty sure they’ve just doubled in size. What the hell? “I’m sorry, after all this time you still think there’s even a remote chance that I’m straight?”

“Ignore him,” Mulligan steps in with the air of someone who knows what they’re talking about. It’s kinda comforting, because Alexander can’t really make sense of the sudden vitriol in Laurens’ words. “He’s just playing his Obnoxious Antagonizing Gay character. It’s like, his weird defense mechanism for when he spends too much time with too many straight people.”

“Shut up, I don’t do that anymore!” Laurens denies it. Then he furrows his brow. “Oh shit, I’m totally doing it. I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair, embarrassed. “It’s this place, you know? You wouldn’t believe the heteronormative bullshit I have to listen to all day.”

“Oh. I thought you said things weren’t that bad there?” Alexander’s tone automatically switches back to a concerned friend’s, and he hates himself a little for it.

“They’re not,” Laurens confirms, “but Charleston isn’t exactly New York either.”

“You know what you should do?” Alexander asks. He knows his friend already knows the answer, because it’s far from being the first time he’s suggesting it, but he still spells it out for him: “You should move back here. I know at least one queer guy who’d be thrilled to see you.”

“Ooh, is he hot?” Laurens plays along.

“ _Hot_ doesn’t even begin to describe it. He’s everything you’ve never even dared dream of.”

“Interesting. Moving back would be a pain, though. He’d really have to convince me.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Mulligan interrupts them, standing up and making to leave the booth.

“Sorry, man,” Alexander tries to stop him. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah. We’ll behave, promise,” Laurens comes to his aid.

Mulligan shakes his head, though. “Nah, it’s okay. You guys do your thing, I’ll be at the bar. And Laurens?”

“Yes?”

“Try and stay out of trouble, alright?”

He smiles, half affection, half defiance. “Always.”

Mulligan’s parting snort very eloquently informs them of how little he believes that.

“So,” Laurens says casually. “Skype sex?”

Alexander huffs, amused. “Tempting as that is, I’d rather just hang out. It feels like we haven’t talked in months.”

“You’re such a girl,” Laurens accuses him, but there’s something soft in his eyes.

“You’re such a sexist,” Alexander counters.

“I’m… damn.” He buries his face in his hands. “This place is killin’ me, I swear.”

“You know, blaming others for your shortcomings actually prevents you from improving yourself.”

Laurens raises an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like my therapist.”

“The therapist you refuse to go to?” Alexander pokes fun at him before the tiny part of his brain that knows how tact works can inform him that maybe it’s not the best idea.

Laurens doesn’t seem to mind, anyway. “No,” he says, strangely serious, “the one I’m seeing now.”

It takes Alexander a second to reply. He needs to process the news first, and decide if Laurens is playing some kind of joke on him. He doesn’t sound like he is.

A smile starts tugging at the corner of Alexander’s mouth. “You’re seeing a therapist.”

“Yep.”

“A real, live one? Not just a TV show with profound life advice?”

“Afraid so. It was one of my parents’ unquestionable conditions.”

“Well, this one I agree with.” Alexander takes a good look at his friend, the casualness of his smile and the almost unbelievable lack of dark circles under his eyes, and things start falling into place. “You look better than ever.”

“That’s because you haven’t had any sex in the last ten days.” Looks like honest hour is already over. “I’ve only seen her twice, she’d have to be a witch to be helping me in a noticeable way already.”

“She is helping you, though, right?” Alexander needs to know.

Laurens thinks about it for a moment before deciding: “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.”

“But I’m still not marrying you,” Laurens clarifies, which is kinda uncalled for.

“Oh, don’t worry, that ship has sailed,” Alexander informs him. “I’m very open-minded, but even I couldn’t marry a redneck.”

“Sound decision,” Laurens approves, and they both laugh. “So,” he asks then, “forgetting me already, are we? I knew that Mrs Reynolds was gonna be bad news for me.”

Alexander rolls his eyes. “For the last time, I’m not allowed to sleep with a client.”

“Don’t give me that,” Laurens scoffs. “You’re Alexander fuckin’ Hamilton. Ya gonna win this case in five days, a week tops, and then you two can celebrate like free attractive people, if you know what I mean.”

“While I appreciate your confidence, I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy.”

“Still stuck?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry babe.” Laurens chews on his lower lip, pensive. “Have you thought of asking someone for help?”

Alexander’s first instinct is to laugh at the joke, but he’s too familiar with Laurens’ moods and tones to mistake it for one. “Right. Because if I can’t come up with anything, that sorry bunch of misfits at the firm will no doubt swoop in and save the day.”

“I wasn’t thinking of them,” Laurens dismisses his indignation. “I was thinking of Burr. I mean, the only reason you took this case is that he was too spineless to defend Mrs Reynolds himself, the least he can do is lend a hand. And he’s known her longer, maybe he has some insight you don’t.”

“I think we both know that I’ll confess to the crime myself and let them drag me away before I turn to Burr for help.”

“Why not? You’ve asked him for help before,” Laurens reminds him. “Actually, if I remember correctly that’s how you met me and the others and our collective lives took a turn for the better, so I don’t see why you’re…”

“Wait wait wait,” Alexander interrupts him. “Did I hear right? Did you just say I changed your life? _For the better_?”

Laurens looks away, embarrassed. His blush is unmistakeable this time. “That’s a very subjective interpretation of what I said,” he mutters.

“But it’s not wrong,” Alexander insists. He feels a little bad about torturing Laurens like this, but it’s nothing compared to the sweet sweet taste of vindication. “I knew it! You can run all you want, it’s not going to change the fact that you’re crazy about me.”

“Oh, you drive me crazy alright, just not the way you’d like to,” Laurens protests, sounding more amused than anything. He knows Alexander wouldn’t believe that in a million years, and apparently he’s okay with it.

“Don’t worry, the only reason I’m so sure of it is that I feel the exact same way about you.”

Laurens, of course, jumps on the chance to take his words as ammo. “Oh, so you’re projecting. It all makes sense now.”

“You know, just because you’re seeing a shrink it doesn’t mean you can go around trying to psychoanalyze people,” Alexander shoots back.

“I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you. If I were, I’d ask if you think your fear of abandonment stems from your relationship, or lack thereof, with your absentee father.”

“At least I’m not still trying to get his approval.”

“I’m not. I’m just taking one for the team,” Laurens argues. “Which is what _you_ should do if you care about winning the Reynolds case.”

Alexander hears him, but he still doesn’t like the idea of turning to Burr for help. Not with this one. Which is probably part of the reason why he can’t help being skeptical. “Fine, let’s say I do humiliate myself with Burr and he agrees to help me out. What can he do that I haven’t already thought of?”

“If we knew, there would be no point asking him, now would there?” Laurens counters.

“I hate you,” Alexander says, because he can’t think of a better comeback.

“You love me.”

“That too.”

They’re both spared the awkwardness of Laurens not saying it back by a teenage girl barging into his room unceremoniously. Alexander can’t make out much besides the oversized black tee she’s wearing and the bright pink streaks in her dark hair, but her voice comes loud and clear through the speakers.

“Jack! Guess what? You just won a ticket to…” She steps closer to the camera and trails off, confusion clouding her eyes for a brief moment before a spark of excitement lights them up again. They look a lot like Laurens’, only with way more mascara on them. “Who’s that?”

“No one you need to know,” Laurens replies, defensive.

He must have minimized the window, or turned the brightness of his laptop all the way down, because the girl makes a disappointed noise and comes close enough for Alexander to see the glint of her pierced nose. “Nooo, take him back! I want to say hi!”

“Go away, Ellie.”

“He’s your boyfriend, right? The one that got Mama all upset?”

“Seriously, there will be consequences if you don’t leave right this second,” Laurens threatens.

The girl just gets bored with him. “Yoo-hoo, you still there, mystery guy?” she turns to Alexander. “Are you Jack’s boyfriend?”

For a split second, Alexander considers granting what must be Laurens’ wish and pretend he’s gone. That thought flies out of his head even quicker than it got in, though. “Not really,” he tells the girl. “Your brother’s too cool for dating. He _is_ your brother, right?” he checks. “You’re Eleanor?”

She brightens up. “He told you about me? That’s a first.”

“Hams, please, don’t…” Laurens pleads.

Alexander ignores him. “Just the name, I’m afraid. But I’m all for getting to know you better.” He hazards a smirk, which predictably drives Laurens crazy.

“Hams, stop hitting on underage girls I’m related to. And Ellie, seriously, scram.”

“Spoilsport,” his sister complains. “I’m just excited to meet one of your friends. It’s high time, since you know all of mine.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s not by choice. I’m counting down the days ’til you get your license back and can drive your own ass places,” Laurens shoots back.

“You got your license suspended?” Alexander inquires.

Eleanor makes a face. “Only ‘cause I wouldn’t grovel to the cops that stopped me. And by _grovel_ I mean _suck their dicks_.”

“Ellie!” Laurens reproaches her, but for the first time since she entered the room he looks more amused than annoyed.

“Oh, like it’s such a foreign concept to you.”

Alexander bursts out laughing, and Laurens finally seems to relax. “Sucking cock or police corruption?” he asks.

Eleanor shrugs. “Both, I guess.” She turns to Alexander again, then. “So, what’s your name? And what’s up with you and my brother?”

“Alexander Hamilton. Why do you think anything’s up?”

“Well, I mean…” She hesitates. “Jack had a nice apartment in Manhattan. I saw it. Close to college and everythin’. And out of the blue he leaves it to come stay with ya. So I’m wondering what you said to convince him.”

Laurens sighs. “Ells, you need to stop listening to Mom and Dad. Especially where my personal life is concerned.”

“And I wasn’t even…” Alexander starts, but he changes course when he sees Laurens’ face. For whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to want his family to know Alexander moved in months after he started living with Lafayette and Mulligan. “I mean, it’s not like anyone had to convince him. Your brother is wonderful, even too good for his own good sometimes, and it was his idea to move in and help us with the rent.”

“Don’t PDS houses already have a ridiculously low rent, though?” Eleanor argues.

“I don’t know about ridiculous,” Alexander points out, because words are important and hearing a living make light of the situation like that pisses him off to no end. Even when it’s Laurens’ little sister. “They are low, comparatively speaking, but you have to remember that most PDS sufferers don’t have jobs, at least not steady ones, and by now a good number of them have been out of the treatment center for over a year and have to start buying their own medication. Which, I don’t know if you’ve checked, but are way fucking expensive. You could eat at a fancy restaurant every other day with the money we waste on them.”

“Fine, okay. Couldn’t they just find jobs, then?”

Laurens buries his face in his hands. “Ellie, come on, you’re better than that.”

“Of course they could,” Alexander agrees. “If the living were willing to hire them. As it is, most of us have low-income jobs or work on commission. Hell, I was one of the lucky ones, I get to do the job I studied for and my bosses hold me in the highest esteem, and even I am not being paid as much as a living in my position would. A recent study has found that only 18% of employed PDS people are. 18%. Do you have any idea how little that is?”

Eleanor opens her mouth to reply, but she can’t find anything to say. In the end, she only goes with, “I can’t believe my brother likes you. You’re basically the same person, and he hates himself.”

“Thanks, Sis, you’re always so charming,” Laurens says, sarcastic, but when he turns to Alexander his smile is genuine, a mixture of admiration and gratitude.

“You’re welcome.” Eleanor jumps down Laurens’ bed. “Are we going now? I told Carrie I’d meet her… two minutes ago.”

“Can’t Mom drive you for once?”

“I already asked. She said if you’re gonna stay here instead of at school you might as well make yourself useful.”

“Of course she did.” Laurens rolls his eyes. “Give me five minutes to get ready, I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Five minutes,” she concedes. “Not one more. I’m already late as it is.”

“Your wish is my command, Princess Eleanor,” he mocks her.

She sticks her tongue at him before taking her leave. “Bye, Alexander, nice to argue with you!”

“Nice to educate you,” he replies, and she leaves the room giggling.

“Looks like duty calls,” Laurens sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Alexander reassures him. He doesn’t really want his friend to go yet, though, so he adds: “Your sister seems pretty cool.”

Laurens gives him a single nod. “She is, when she isn’t letting the uncultured idiots from around here brainwash her.”

“Good thing you’re there to keep an eye on her now, then,” Alexander tries to see the glass half full.

“Yeah. Lucky me.” He shakes himself. “See you soon?”

“Sure.”

“Let me know how it goes with Burr.”

“If I ask him.”

“ _When_ you ask him.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m just trying to help you out.”

“I appreciate that. Never do it again.”

“Wait and see, you’re going to thank me.”

“I’ll be thankful when you stop trying to give me advice.”

“Fine, I will.”

“Great.”

“After you talk to Burr.“

Alexander ends the call.

 

Despite all his protesting, Alexander finds himself at Burr’s door as early as the following evening. There’s nothing like a day spent trying to come up with a course of action and failing to convince a guy to swallow his pride and admit he needs help. And as much as Alexander would rather turn to anyone else than the wuss who got him into this mess in the first place, he must admit that Laurens was right – if he’s looking for insight into Maria’s situation, Burr is the guy for him.

He knocks on the door (steel reinforced, the only one in the whole building) with an energy he doesn’t feel, and waits.

It’s a handful of seconds before Burr’s voice comes from inside, loud and clear in spite of the inches of sturdy material between them. “Who is it?”

“Hamilton,” Alexander replies, hating himself a little. “I need to talk to you.”

The click of a lock, and Burr’s suspicious eyes are staring at him. “What’s the matter?” he asks. Alexander can’t help noticing that he doesn’t look like he’s about to step outside with him, let alone invite him inside. He just hovers on the doorway with an aggrieved air about him. “You got a body to bury or something?”

“Ha ha ha.” Alexander is already done. “If I happened to kill someone, you can bet you’d be the last person I’d tell.”

“Sound decision,” Burr approves. “So what do you want?”

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Alexander asks, and it’s clear even to his own ears that he’s just stalling at this point.

Burr, of course, is unmovable. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.”

Alexander shifts uncomfortably under his bored gaze. He can do this. Rip the band-aid off, and the rest will come easy. “I think we both know you’re a better lawyer than me,” he finally declares.

Burr quirks an eyebrow. “Flattery from you. Now I really am worried.”

“I’m serious, man. Yeah, I’m smarter, more creative, but that doesn’t count shit if the whole courtroom is already against you from the beginning. Whereas you, you’re calm and collected and you… you charm them. Make ‘em forget you’re one of us and not one of them. A gift like that is exactly what a PDS lawyer needs in this political environment – it’s what _I_ need.”

“Wait. Is this about your bunkmate Laurens leaving? Are you feeling lonely at night?” Burr wonders, spiteful. “I’m really flattered, but I’m not gay and I don’t…”

“I’m going to lose the Reynolds case,” Alexander interrupts him. If he has to hear one more word, he’s going to get pissed and storm off back to square one, and it’s not going to help anyone. Especially not Maria. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but that asshole Mr. Reynolds turned against us at the arraignment and now I have no idea how to save Maria. They’ve got the pictures, and Reynolds’ confession, and everyone I’ve talked to is ready to vouch for Beckley’s respectability. I’ve tried, god knows I’ve been all over this case for days, but I can’t find anything, no brilliant idea, no key witness, nothing. So either you quit messing around and help me out or your friend is going to jail, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

He was not planning to lose his cool like this. That’s the last thing he needs – to give Burr more ammo against him. He shouldn’t show weakness to him, and even less how much he’s grown to care about winning this shitty mindfuck of a case.

It’s too late now, though, he realizes as understanding lights up Burr’s face. He doesn’t say anything at first, just steps aside and opens the door a little wider. “Come on. Let’s see if we can think of something,” he mutters.

Alexander follows him in.

It’s the first time he’s ever stepped into Burr’s apartment (and if they’re lucky, the last one too), so he can’t help taking the chance to try and look around as much as possible. Just to get a tiny glimpse behind the curtain, to see if the image Burr has built around himself has any consistency with his private life.

It would appear so. There’s nothing weird or embarrassing lying around, no boy band posters, no pink bunny costume – which makes sense, Burr never would have let him in if there had been any incriminating stuff to find. Still, Alexander can’t help being a little disappointed by the sleek monochrome furniture, the flat-screen TV, the orderly rows of legal books on the shelves. Seems like Burr is as boring on the inside as he appears to be on the outside.

“You can take a seat,” Burr offers, gesturing in the direction of the couch. Black and brand new, not even close to the tattered old one Alexander and the others have at 3B. Though to be fair, this one doesn’t look quite as comfortable.

“Thanks,” Alexander says, and obliges. Yup, definitely less bouncy. Lafayette wouldn’t approve.

Burr sits with him, albeit at the opposite end of the couch. “So,” he starts, “why don’t you tell me more about the case? Maria didn’t give me details.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone, right?” Alexander inquires, suddenly starting to doubt the plan. Or well, starting to doubt it even more. “You’re not really supposed to know anything about the case, and if word got out…”

“Alexander,” Burr interrupts him, “Maria is my friend.”

“And…?” Alexander needs to hear him say it.

Burr rolls his eyes. “And I swear on my beloved mother’s ashes that I’m not going to breathe a word of what you tell me to anyone.“

“Thank you.”

So Alexander tells him everything. How Maria and James Reynolds lured Beckley into the Triton and took pictures of him getting it on with a PDS client. How he decided to sue them rather than let them extort twelve thousand grand from him. How Maria begged Alexander for help, and showed him her bruises and lied to him when he wouldn’t agree. How James turned against them at the trial, promising to confess to every crime he and Maria committed together (which, according to Maria, are quite a number) in exchange for a reduced sentence.

Burr listens to him intently, asking the occasional question and even taking notes from time to time. He does take the job seriously, no question about that. He only betrays some sort of emotion when Alexander describes Maria’s abused skin to him, and his jaw clenches, his grip on the pen tightens. If Alexander didn’t know better, he’d say he’s ready to go beat up Beckley, Reynolds, and every man who ever laid hand on Maria, teach them that they either treat women like people or they can stay away from them.

_At least he cares about_ some _of his friends_ , Alexander thinks, and he’s half resentful, half pleased.

“The weak link is obviously Reynolds,” Burr muses a while later, after Alexander has finished recounting all the facts and they’ve had some time to think about them. “He’s as guilty as Maria, arguably even more so, and if he indeed showed up drunk at the arraignment any court is going to think twice before giving him any credit.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” Alexander agrees, “but the problem is it’s in their best interest to believe him. Who cares if he’s lying? Beckley is a decent, living man, and deserves to win the case. If Reynolds can help him with that, he’s going to get his deal, no matter what a sorry excuse for a human being he is.”

Burr looks at him with a thoughtful expression. “You seem convinced that the court has already made up its mind.”

“Oh trust me, they have. Or they will soon enough. Cheating on your wife with a PDS client might not be the most upstanding behavior, but I don’t think Jefferson will have any problems convincing the judge that Maria is the real villain here. They already want her to be, because she’s PDS and poor and a woman, and Beckley is the exact opposite of all that.”

“True, but you can’t just assume…” Burr starts saying.

He’s interrupted by the sudden buzz of his phone on the coffee table. Burr lounges forward and turns down the call in a matter of seconds, but he’s not quick enough that Alexander doesn’t catch the caller ID.

“Theodosia?” he asks, baffled. “How’d you know Eliza’s friend?”

Predictably, Burr isn’t so keen on sharing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, don’t insult me. How many Theodosia’s do you think live in the Brooklyn area? It must be the same one,” Alexander deduces. “Living, big curly hair but not quite an afro, British accent? Ring any bells?”

Burr shakes his head, an annoyed reflex more than an actual answer to the question. “Trust me, Alexander, it’s in both our best interests if you just forget you saw that name on my phone.”

He looks more uncomfortable than ever, and a sneaky, gloating suspicion enters Alexander’s mind. “Wait. Is she one of your girlfriends?” Burr’s expression of mortified outrage is all the confirmation he needed. “Oh my god, she is, isn’t she? I can’t believe it! So you have a thing for accents? I had no idea.”

“This conversation is over,” Burr snaps with barely concealed anger.

Alexander figures it’s better he checks himself before he makes Burr’s head explode. He can tease him some more after they figure out how to win this case. “Fine, man, whatever. At least now you know how I feel when you make your haughty little comments about me and Laurens.” He leans back against the cushion. “So, where were we? Oh yes, I really don’t think the court wants justice, they just want…”

“I think you misunderstood,” Burr cuts him off, stepping up. “We’re done here. You can see yourself out.”

“What? You’re kidding, right?”

Of course he isn’t kidding, he’s fucking Burr. The last time he smiled without an ulterior motive he was probably an infant and it was a reflex anyway, Alexander really doubts he’s suddenly decided messing around with people is anything more than an unoriginal waste of time.

“Just because I asked about Theodosia? You can’t…”

“Don’t say her name,” Burr growls, “just get out.”

Yeah, no way Alexander went through the humiliation of begging Burr for help only to be kicked out like this. And for something so trivial, of all things. “Let’s talk it out, okay? I’m sorry, I was just fucking around. I had no idea the topic was so touchy for you.”

“Do I have to call the cops? Tell them a deranged zombie is attacking me in my own home?”

He’s dead serious. More than when he blackmailed Alexander into helping Maria, more than he was after losing the Bloom case. The internalized pulsism, Alexander has come to expect of him, it’s how angry he got and how fast that throws him off. Burr has always been the epitome of self-control, even infuriatingly so, and now he’s threatening Alexander at the mere mention of this girl he’s into? Either he’s always got Burr wrong or something’s up. Alexander is more inclined to believe the latter.

In any case, this isn’t probably the best moment to investigate. Tonight was already enough of a waste of time without spending the rest of it in a confinement cell because this psycho called the cops on him.

Alexander gets up with a sigh that’s half frustrated, half resigned. “You’re sick, man,” he tells Burr before slipping out.

He was expecting – hoping – for a response, ideally some yelling, or just for Burr to rush to the door and slam it behind him. Nothing happens, though, so Alexander has no choice but to walk away. Even he can see how bad an idea it would be to keep poking Burr with the metaphorical stick, and besides, he has more urgent business to tend to than Burr’s mysterious sex life. Starting with the Reynolds case, because he didn’t make any progress whatsoever here.

This is the last time he follows Laurens’ advice, he thinks as he heads back downstairs to 3B.


	28. In which Alexander goes on a roadtrip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pride month, everyone! :D
> 
> I'm posting this in a rush before I leave for work, so apologies in advance for any typos.

It’s only been four days since the whole fiasco at Burr’s apartment when Alexander hears about Theodosia again. More than hears, actually. He’s sitting on the stairs in front of his building, Mulligan standing two or three steps below, and by some weird coincidence they’re talking about her when Eliza’s car pulls up right in front of them and they see Theodosia on the seat next to hers. Alexander can’t hide the tiniest grimace of disappointment. With Laurens gone and Angelica too busy with the bar to take the three-hour trip to the Albany treatment center, he kinda assumed he had automatic gunshot.

“Hello, boys,” Eliza greets them as they approach the car, the brightest smile lighting up her face. Looking at it, one could almost forget about the horrible place they’re going. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

“Don’t worry, we grabbed coffees at Angie’s,” Alexander tells her. He hesitates a second before sliding into the middle backseat. “Hey there, Philip. How’s it going?”

The boy smiles up at him from the seat right next to his, excitement making up for how tired he obviously is. He must not be used to waking up at 5 AM, but with the visit to Lafayette scheduled at 9:30, it’s not like they had much of a choice.

“Great!” Philip replies eagerly as Eliza starts the car again. “I have sandwiches if you’re hungry, and I made us a playlist to listen to during the trip. You like it?”

Alexander stops to pay attention to the beat and can’t hide a proud grin. “2Pac?” he asks.

“Yup,” Philip confirms. “You were right, he’s the bomb.”

“I still don’t think it’s the most appropriate music for a twelve-year-old boy,” Eliza interjects, but neither Alexander nor Philip take her seriously. By now they’re both accustomed to her teasing tone.

“Don’t worry Mom, I put some Chopin in it as well.”

“That’s my boy,” Alexander approves, and they bump fists.

Eliza shakes her head fondly and goes back to making conversation with Theodosia and Mulligan, who just had to go and tell Theodosia he and Alexander were talking about her moments before they arrived to pick them up.

“All good things, I shall hope,” she says.

Well. They weren’t exactly bad things, either, but Alexander doubts gossiping about her private life counts as “good”. It’s not even like Alexander cares – he was just curious after Burr freaked and kicked him out the other night, so he looked her up and found some Instagram pictures of her with a white living guy that turned out to be Jacques Prevost of _Prevost & Campbell_. Aka Burr’s firm. Burr’s meltdown when Alexander teased him about his alleged relationship with Theodosia suddenly started to make a lot more sense.

When Eliza’s car made its appearance, they had moved past the big reveal to the part where Alexander made fun of Mulligan for spending months looking for dirt on Burr to no avail, while Alexander found all the blackmailing material he needed without even looking for it. So really, they weren’t even talking about her anymore at that point, if not very very indirectly. Mulligan could have avoided mentioning the conversation to Theodosia and he still have got to keep his conscience relatively clean.

It’s too late for that now, though. “Of course,” Mulligan lies without effort. “Well, mostly we were wondering if you’d join us on the trip, ‘cause we didn’t know if you ever had a chance to meet Laf at Eliza’s group.”

She hums in confirmation. “I did. Well, I only joined a few weeks before he was captured, so I didn’t get to know him quite as well as I would have liked. But he was always nice to me. And to everyone else, really. The group hasn’t quite been the same without him.”

“Really,” Eliza confirms, “I have a bag full of letters from other members back there. I told them I didn’t even know if I’d be allowed to give them to him, but they insisted I brought them just in case. He was part of the family.”

“That’s great,” Alexander approves. “Now more than ever, he needs to be reminded that there’s people fighting for him out there.”

“I made him a card too,” Philip chimes in before adding with aggrieved sarcasm: “Since I’m not allowed to see him.”

Eliza sighs. “We’ve been over this. Lafayette is probably not feeling well, you shouldn’t…”

“Yes, exactly! What if something happens to him and I never get to see him again? He’s my friend.”

“Of course you’re going to see him again,” Alexander promises. “What, you think we’re going to let him rot in there forever?”

Philip hesitates, not knowing how to be his usual optimistic self and keep defending his side of the argument at the same time. “No, I know we’re going to save him,” he finally relents. “I just want to see him now.”

“And how about your grandparents, huh?” his mother asks. “We haven’t paid a visit to them in months. They miss you.”

“I know,” Philip mumbles. “They tell me all the time when we talk on the phone. Which I can’t do with Lafayette,” he adds, and Alexander has to turn to Mulligan’s side to hide his smirk. The kid is growing to become as relentless as he is. Come to think of it, Alexander can’t rule out the possibility that Philip’s newly discovered talent for arguing could be a side effect of how much time they’ve been spending together.

Eliza must be thinking the same thing, because she turns to him with an exasperated tone. “Alexander, will you help me make him see reason?”

“Your mother’s right, Philip,” he complies. He’d never tell the boy anything different. “You go take care of your grandparents; they need you too. And Lafayette is going to be so happy to have a card to remind you by when he’s all alone in that place.” There’s really no guarantee that security won’t destroy all the cards before Lafayette even gets to see them, but Alexander doesn’t feel like dwelling on the possibility. It’s just going to piss him off, and it won’t really help him persuade Philip.

“Oh, fine.” The boy jabs a finger into Alexander’s chest. “But you _have_ to tell him I wanted to be there and you and Mom didn’t let me. I don’t want him thinking I’m too chicken to visit him.”

“It’s a deal,” Alexander promises, and the discussion ends there – much to Eliza’s relief, if the grateful smile she gives him through the rearview mirror is any indication. It’s good to know if Alexander doesn’t make it as a lawyer he always has a promising career as family pacifier to fall back on.

He leans back, more than a little smug, and enjoys the ride. The open road is unfolding in front of them, a line of concrete stretching to the ends of the world. Or so Alexander used to believe when he was a small kid and his father still drove him places sometimes, so long ago that it feels more like a fabricated memory than a real one. After that… honestly, Alexander can’t quite remember the last time he was in a car. There was the time Eliza drove him home from the hospital after things escalated at their King’s College protest, that one is hard to forget, but it doesn’t really count – they spent most of the time moving at the start-and-stop pace of traffic in the city.

Today’s the real thing, though. Today they’re racing up the highway to Albany, sun still low on the horizon, the signs of human presence becoming more and more scarce as they go, and Alexander almost can’t believe how much he missed the feeling. Not even the confinement to the middle back seat can ruin it for him – actually, sandwiched between Mulligan and a Philip that’s rapidly succumbing to sleep, Alexander is growing to appreciate his spot. In addition to providing a view that rivals that of the very sought-after shotgun, it allows him to strike up a conversation with all the other passengers without the slightest effort.

He takes full advantage of the situation, asking Philip what’s the word (he’s dating that girl Dolly the way elementary school kids do, apparently, and Alexander can’t help feeling smugly proud of him), trying without much success to get some more details about the exact nature of Theodosia’s relationship with Burr, putting a comforting hand on Mulligan’s arm when his friend’s voice goes a little unsteady as they wonder out loud what state Lafayette could be in when they see him. Laurens’ sources weren’t very forthcoming, which Alexander and Theodosia swear to be just one more example of how little the power that be care about PDS sufferers’ families and the anguish they go through when their loved ones get taken to treatment centers. Mulligan takes it as a bad sign, though, and for how much they try, they can’t seem to convince him otherwise.

In the end, Theodosia relents. “I’m so sorry Angelica couldn’t come,” she changes the subject, a not-so-subtle but welcome attempt at lightening the mood. “I was looking forward to a chance of getting to know her better.”

Alexander looks up from Philip’s form, that’s been unapologetically pressed against his side since the boy lost his battle with sleep a half hour earlier, and snorts. “Good luck with that. It was hard enough getting her to take a night off when she had the Archive all for herself, and now she has Jefferson to please.”

“That’s all the more reason why she should take a break, if you ask me,” Mulligan interjects. “She can’t keep stressing out over that guy. I’ve seen how crazy it makes her.”

“What is she supposed to do? That place is practically her child,” Alexander defends his friend, because even though he knows Mulligan’s intentions are good, he can’t stand to hear him criticize her. He’s not too fond of people who don’t think Angelica is flawless in general, and besides, he knows all too well what it feels like to be attacked by your friends just because you’re trying to do your job right.

Unfortunately, Mulligan seems to spot the connection too. “Yeah. Speaking of children, it’s a good thing you two never got together. With how much you two work, your kids would have grown up without even knowing what their parents look like.”

“Well, I’m sure _your_ children would be grateful for that.“

“Guys, behave,” Eliza cuts the crap in her best Mom Voice – which is pretty fucking good. Had it been anyone else, Alexander and Mulligan would probably have set aside their differences and joined forces against the common enemy, but neither of them dares speaking up against her. Not because they’re afraid, of course, Eliza is the sweetest girl in the world and they’re all messing around anyway. No, at least in Alexander’s case the reason he doesn’t want to keep arguing just for the sake of it is that he doesn’t want to act so childish in front of Eliza. He still wants her to be proud of him.

Still, just because he won’t keep bickering with Mulligan it doesn’t mean Alexander is willing to forfeit yet. “What do _you_ think?” he turns to Eliza. “You’ve known Angelica way longer than us. Is she worrying too much?”

Eliza sighs, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I do wish she’d take it easier,” she confesses. “For her own peace of mind. But it’s not like she has much of a choice at this point.”

Her choice of words catches Alexander’s attention. “What do you mean at this point?” he asks. “Church pretty much sold the bar behind her back. She couldn’t have done much about it back then, either.”

“She could have bought Church’s share herself,” Eliza points out, a little too quick, a little too blunt. She has had this argument before, Alexander realizes. Probably more than once – it’s not like Eliza to get upset so easily.

“Could she afford it? With the profit the bar turns in?” Mulligan inquires, and he sounds as perplexed as Alexander feels.

Eliza shakes her head. “Not by herself. But if she’d asked our parents for the money? Absolutely.” She tightens her grip on the steering wheel. “Too bad she’s too proud to turn to anyone for help. She wouldn’t even accept a loan from them.”

“I thought you guys were tight with your parents,” Alexander hazards.

“We are,” Eliza confirms. “It’s like you said though, the Archive is her child. A place for her to do her own thing, make her own memories away from home. And she wants to take care of it without anyone’s help – not even her family’s.”

“So she’ll take Jefferson over someone else’s money,” Alexander says. “I can respect that.”

“Oh, I can’t,” Eliza grumbles, and it’s so uncharacteristic of her that Alexander, Mulligan and Theodosia all burst out laughing. She doesn’t appreciate it. “I’m serious! She could saved herself a lot of trouble if she weren’t so stubborn.”

Mulligan smiles a knowingly smile. “Give it time, Jefferson is going to wear her out. Did you hear he wants to redecorate the whole place?”

“Yeah. I think that’s one of the changes they’re discussing today, actually.”

“You should give her a call later, make sure she’s okay,” Theodosia suggests, and Eliza smiles and nods.

“Good thinking. She picked every item in that place by herself – whatever changes Jefferson comes up with, she isn’t going to like them.”

“Well, let’s look on the bright side, it can’t be as bad as segregating the PDS clientele, now can it?” Alexander remarks. He can’t believe Laurens almost slept with the guy. After _talking_ to him. His taste in men is almost as bad as Alexander’s.

“Actually,” Eliza reveals, desolated, “I think the reason he brought up renovations in the first place is that since Angelica won’t let him have separate rooms, he at least wants to make clearly distinguishable separate PDS tables.”

“I stand corrected.”

So much for moving on to a lighter topic – now Alexander is mad again. And heartbroken. The Archive is Angelica’s bar. It’s the place where Alexander met his friends and Eliza and Philip, where he and Laurens kissed for the first time and Alexander felt alive again for the first time in months, where he and Angelica kissed for the last time and she deemed him worthy of knowing something she hadn’t even told her sisters yet. It’s the place that welcomed him and dozens of other lost PDS people like him, and Jefferson has no right to take it away from them.

But he does, and he is, and there’s nothing Alexander can do about it. Well, he guesses he could talk to Angelica, convince her to swallow her pride and accept her parents’ money, not for her sake but for everyone’s. He doesn’t want her to have to resort to that, though. He knows he’d feel the same way if he were in her position, so who is he to try and make her feel bad about it?

He sags further back against his seat, defeated. He wishes Philip would wake up, so they could go back to talking about rappers and first love and this trip would once again feel like an adventure rather than yet another fake step forward in the winding road to liberation. He wishes Laurens were here to throw an arm around his shoulders and make him believe in a better world. But he’s not even answering Alexander’s messages and Philip needs sleep, so it’s up to him to cheer himself up.

Or to take his mind off the bad stuff, at least. And what better way to do it than gather information on the thorn in his side Burr has turned out to be? “Feel free to tell me if I’m overstepping, Theodosia,” he starts, “but I’m still not clear on the reason you changed your mind about moving in with us.”

“It’s… private, actually,” she deflects. She really doesn’t want to talk about it. Alexander might even consider granting her wish if he wasn’t so desperate for a distraction.

As it is, he can’t help prodding: “Is it because of Aaron Burr?”

“Man, come on, leave her alone,” Mulligan tries to step in a moment too late.

Theodosia must be much better than Alexander at concealing her feelings, because she doesn’t even twitch. Not like Alexander was expecting any big gasps of shock or tearful confessions. A surprised glance seemed appropriate, though, a flicker of her eyes, just enough to let him know he’s onto something. Instead she just purses her lips, the sparkle in her eyes amused or impressed or curious. Definitely not stunned, anyway.

“What do you think you know about me and Aaron Burr?” she wants to know, and it sounds like she’s playing a game rather than having her embarrassing life choices put into question.

Alexander licks his lips, considering the question carefully. If it’s a game, you can bet he’s going to win it. “I know he doesn’t want me to know about the two of you,” he tells her. “And I know you and his boss are tight. Like, planning-a-July-wedding tight.”

Theodosia smiles without joy. “You went and looked me up? That’s creepy. Couldn’t you have just asked me out for coffee?”

“Isn’t your fiancé going to mind?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart. Do you really think I would be imposing on Eliza if he were still in the picture?”

Alexander tries to swallow his irritation at the remark. “And how about Burr, huh? Is he still in the picture?”

“Who says he ever was?”

Man, this girl is giving Alexander a headache. No wonder Burr is into her – they speak the same obscure language. Come to think of it, Alexander is grateful he didn’t have to witness their interaction the other night.

Still, he’s not going to give up so soon. “Your late night phone calls to him say so, as does his defensiveness about them,” he supplies.

“You were at his place late at night?” she asks. “Maybe you’re more involved in his sex life than I am.”

“Oh, come on, that’s just desperate,” Alexander protests.

“Is it? What other reason would you have to be so interested in who he’s shagging?” she counters.

“I’m not,” he clarifies. “I’m only interested in whether he’s _shagging_ his boss’ fiancée.”

He said too much, he realizes it the second the words leave his mouth and Theodosia’s smile acquires a calculating color. “So you want dirt on him, is that it?” she deduces. “Why?”

He bites his tongue, but he knows it’s too late. He can only lie or be honest now, and he has a feeling the game’s rules don’t allow the former. “If you’re worried about him, you can relax. I’m not out for his blood, I just need insurance.”

“Oh yeah?” Theodosia asks, her tone playfully mocking. “You afraid of him?”

“Just annoyed,” Alexander says. Then he confesses: “And a little curious. To tell you the truth, I find you way out of his league.”

She snorts. “I thought I was the desperate one?”

“I’m serious!” Alexander insists. “And I’m not trying to flatter you, I’m afraid. This is more about how I feel about him than what I think of you.”

“Huh,” she says, and looks at him like she’s trying to figure out his life story just by the crinkles around his eyes.

“What?” he asks after only a bunch of seconds, because it’s already getting a little unsettling.

“I always thought the whole rivalry thing was just for show,” Theodosia admits. “Don’t look at me like that, of course he mentioned you. He was working on that case against you… Bloom vs Shepherd, right? And you called his number when I was staying over one time. He always complained about… well, everything, but I could see underneath it all he was fond of you. And I thought you’d be the same.”

It’s all Alexander can do not to laugh in her face. “Fond of me? Burr?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up. “He barely tolerates me on a good day. I’m a disruption to his much coveted peace and quiet, you see.”

Theodosia shrugs. “That’s what it looked like to me. But I reckon you know better.” The way she says it makes it very clear to Alexander that she doesn’t really reckon that. At all.

“I do know better.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Mm, but did you mean it?”

“Guys – _shut up_ ,” Mulligan steps in. He’s been silent so long that Alexander was assuming he’d dozed off as some point, but it looks like that wasn’t the case. He also sounds as done as Alexander has ever heard him. “We still have one more hour to go and I’m not gonna spend it listening to your pointless arguing, so either you find something to have a normal conversation about or you keep your mouths shut.”

Alexander is about to point out that he’s had to spend well over one hour listening to him and Lafayette debate the dumbest of issues when he realizes that’s probably the exact reason Mulligan is so annoyed. With how strong and practical he’s acting, it’s easy to forget that Lafayette was like a brother to him and he must miss him like hell – pointless arguments included.

“Sorry,” Alexander backs down.

Theodosia looks at him in surprise, taken aback by how quickly he went along with the request, but she immediately recovers and smirks at him, smugness and mockery. Alexander has decided to be mature about it and not upset Mulligan, so he responds with a silent flip of the bird.

He meets Eliza’s eyes in the rearview mirror and knows he’s been caught. She doesn’t rat him out though, bless her heart, choosing instead to move on and talk about how things are going at her school.

It’s mostly thanks to her that they all get to Albany without killing each other. Alexander finds himself thinking that it’s a shame she only ever had one kid – she would make one hell of a job raising a family, the larger the better. Not that it’s too late for that already, of course, she’s not even in her thirties, she has all the time in the world. And Philip would make a terrific older brother. Alexander can’t help smiling at the thought.

The Albany treatment center looks almost boring from the outside. It used to be a run-down old hospital in the outskirts of town, and it was just about to be dismantled when the Rising happened and the powers that be decided it might endure a little longer after all. They slapped a new coat of paint on the front, fixed a couple things here and there, and declared it fit for reopening. Not the most professional way to do things, but to their credit, the ceiling has yet to collapse suddenly but not entirely unexpectedly and kill everyone inside. Well, every living inside, at least.

Eliza pulls up in the parking lot in front of the building, which looks way too big now that only the couple dozens doctors on duty during the day have a use for it.

“Be safe,” she greets Alexander, Mulligan and Theodosia as they get out of the car. “And tell Laf we both love him, okay?”

“Don’t forget to give him my card!” Philip shouts from the backseat.

“We will, we will, and we won’t,” Alexander promises with a wink. “Have fun with the relatives.”

With a last reminder that she’ll come pick them up at 2, Eliza drives off. To a better place than the one they’re going, that’s for sure.

“Well, here we are,” Mulligan says, staring at the door as if it were the mouth of Hell itself. To be fair, it is probably one of the closest things you can find on Earth.

Alexander puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

They cross the parking lot and walk inside, Theodosia just one step behind.

The room they step into is strangely reassuring. Pastel colors, neat rows of seats for relatives to wait in, a clear map of the building that doesn’t include torture chambers. Even the informative posters hanging on all four walls seem… well, maybe not exactly accurate, but innocuous, at least. Well-meaning.

“Huh,” Mulligan comments. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.”

“Yeah, this almost looks like an actual hospital,” Theodosia agrees.

“It’s the public face,” Alexander reminds them. “When people come to the center to pick up their PDS loved ones and take them home, this is all they get to see. So when they leave they’re convinced all’s good here, it really is just a place sick people go to get better, and they don’t ask too many question. It was worth investing into making it look like nothing’s wrong.”

Theodosia’s smile is thin. “The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.”

“Something like that.”

“Can I help you?“ the nurse behind the counter asks. She’s young, white, chubby, and there’s something maternal in her smile. The kind of person you want to welcome worried relatives and put them at ease.

Theodosia and Mulligan must think the same, because they both give Alexander a look and Theodosia even mutters: “I changed my mind, this place is creepy.”

“We’re here for visitations,” Mulligan answers the question, moving closer to the counter. “With Gilbert de Lafayette, at 9:30.”

The nurse – Melissa, according to her name tag – smiles warmly at him and nods. “Just one second.” She types something into her computer and frowns. “That’s strange.”

“What’s going on?” Alexander wants to know. He has a bad feeling about this.

“You said the name was Lafayette?” the nurse asks.

“Yes,” Mulligan confirms. “Is there any problem?”

“Oh, he’s right as rain, you don’t have to worry about him,” she anticipates their concern, which actually has the effect of making them even more concerned. “It would seem that he isn’t allowed visitations, though.” 

“Right. But this isn’t a regular visit. We’re here on account of Judge Henry Laurens? I spoke with one of your colleagues on the phone, they told me we could see him today.”

“I’ll be right back,” Melissa says, and disappears in the back. She emerges less than a minute later with a contrite expression that doesn’t promise anything good. “I’m really sorry, but there seems to have been a mistake. There aren’t any visitations scheduled for today.”

“You’re kidding,” Mulligan growls, and it’s not a question.

The nurse answers anyway. “I’m afraid not. Your friend’s doctor doesn’t think he’s fit to meet with anyone just now. Whoever told you to come should have asked for his opinion first.”

“But they did!” Mulligan protests. “They told us just yesterday that everything was clear.”

Alexander can’t shake a horrible suspicion. “Has something happened to him in the last twenty-four hours? Something that made him… not fit to meet us?” he asks.

“No, of course not,” Melissa insists. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying – she’d have to know how Lafayette is doing in order to do that. And Alexander has a feeling she has no idea. “Really, you can relax. Most patients aren’t allowed visitations, but that’s only because they’d be disruptive to the therapy, not because anything bad has happened to them. And I’m sorry you came here for nothing, but you should trust us to do our work well. We know what’s best for your friend.”

She shouldn’t have said that. “Stop pretending you give a shit!” Mulligan snaps. “You think anyone here is buying your crap? We know what this place is for. We know Laf is never getting out.” 

“Sir,” Melissa starts in a frightened, yet firm voice, “I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”

Alexander meets Mulligan’s eyes, the anger and the heartbreak in them, and makes a rash decision. “No,” he says. “We’re not going until we get to speak with our friend.”

“I already told you I…”

“I know what you told us, and I don’t care. We were also told that we could see Lafayette, and I’m not moving until you make good on that promise. So call the guy who spoke to Mulligan here, call the doctor, call the fucking man in charge, I don’t care how long it takes, but we _are_ getting in if it’s the last thing we do.”

Security isn’t even a little sorry to literally kick them out.

“Well, that went well,” Theodosia comments when the door closes behind the security guards and the three of them are once again left standing in the parking lot.

Alexander shrugs. “I had to try.” He turns to Mulligan, who is massaging his own forearm and muttering behind his breath something about goddamn guards and their taser-happy fingers. “What now? We’re not giving up, are we?”

He shakes his head. “Of course not. Call Laurens, maybe he can sort this out.”

“On it.”

“What do you think happened there?” Theodosia asks.

On the other end, the phone rings once.

“I mean, it seems weird, doesn’t it? Why make you come all the way here to tell you you couldn’t see him?”

Two, three times.

“You think he’s hurt too?” Mulligan’s tone is verging on desperate.

“I didn’t say he is,” Alexander clarifies, phone still pressed to his ear. “I’m just saying it’s possible. Just like it’s perfectly possible that there really was some kind of misunderstanding – if you think about it, treatment centers are not exactly renown for their efficiency and professionalism. We won’t know until… Oh, fuck you, Laurens,” he bursts out when his call is transferred to voicemail.

“Not picking up?”

“Nope.”

“Shit.” Mulligan looks around them, his determination starting to crack. “We can’t leave him,” he says, and it sounds more like a requiem than a resolution.

Alexander won’t have it. “We can’t, and we won’t. I told you, I’m not going anywhere until they let us in.”

“Haven’t we just witnessed the failure of that particular plan?” Theodosia reminds him.

“Yeah, well, they can’t kick us out of a parking lot. It’s not like we’re doing anything illegal just by standing here.”

“Yeah,” Mulligan agrees. Something lights up in his eyes again. It’s small, but it’s there. “Yeah, good thinking. There’s nothing they can do about it.”

Alexander smiles at him, glad they’re on the same page. It might not be much, but it’s one more battle they refuse to lose. And who knows, maybe if they win enough, things are going to start changing. Not to mention that they’re buying time for Laurens to get out of whatever life-and-death engagement is preventing him from answering his goddamn phone and call them back. It might not look like much, but it’s actually the best they can do for now.

Theodosia doesn’t seem to feel the same way. “So that’s the plan? Standing around like you have nothing better to do until the living take pity on you?”

“It’s not about pity,” Alexander protests, and he feels himself grow angrier as he speaks. Of course she used to sleep with Burr. They’re the same, all too happy to toss around token words like _freedom_ or _justice_ behind closed doors and freezing on the spot when it comes to actually doing something to bring them forth. No wonder the living get to do as they please with them – it’s not like PDS sufferers are putting up much of a fight these days. “And look, I know you might not have known Lafayette very well but we care about him, okay? We’re not going to leave him behind just because…”

“Who said anything about leaving him behind?” Theodosia interrupts him. “I just reckon the plan needs some work.”

That’s… not what Alexander was expecting. He’s glad he didn’t have time to voice everything he was thinking, ‘cause that might have been embarrassing. “Like what?” he asks lamely.

Theodosia throws her arms in the air. “You’ve started a whole movement just to get Lafayette out, haven’t you? Use it. Get people to come here and tell those fascists what we think about them. Make some noise, for god’s sake.”

“It’s kind of short notice,” Mulligan points out. “You think anyone’ll show up?”

She shrugs. “No idea. What I do know is if that we’re too afraid to go big, we’re never going anywhere at all.”

Yup. Definitely a good thing that she didn’t let Alexander finish his rant.

They hit the socials. Big time. They’d already announced that they were going to meet with Lafayette today and give everyone an update on his conditions, so the news that they weren’t allowed past acceptance is welcome with a suitable amount of outrage. The kind of outrage that pushes executives to come up with increasingly convoluted excuses and delete their Twitter accounts. Not that staying off the Internet is going to do them much good – the Albany treatment center must be flooded with calls, too.

And then people start coming. It’s not a big, constant stream, especially at first. Just the few who luckily enough happened to live in the area, or could get there without too much trouble. A family that always does their shopping at the thrift store at the other end of the street. A couple friends that caught a bus from the city because they had nothing much to do anyway. The one good thing about their condition is that it leaves them with all the time in the world to protest.

Laurens calls in too at some point – Mulligan, not Alexander. It’s fine though, Alexander has better things to do than obsess over whatever that could mean.

“What does he say?” Alexander asks when the call ends.

“That he’ll look into what happened,” Mulligan passes on. “And that he wishes he were here.”

 _Yeah, me too_. “Good. If it was just a miscommunication issue, I’d say we have good chances of getting in. If something really happened to Laf…”

“Not so much,” Mulligan concludes for him.

“Yeah.”

“It better be the former, then,” Mulligan says, with such conviction that for a second Alexander almost believes it’s enough to make it happen.

There’s a little over two-hundred people in the parking lot when Eliza comes back to collect them. They didn’t text her, not wanting to disrupt her time with her family (Mulligan’s idea), and she must have stayed off the Internet as well because for a moment she looks lost in the sea of people. She quickly finds Alexander’s eyes, though, and marches right where he’s standing, only a few yards from the treatment center’s threshold.

“Hi!” he shouts at her over the noise.

“Hi,” she shouts back. “What’s happening?”

“Impromptu protest.”

“What?”

“Impromptu protest!” Alexander repeats, louder, but there’s about a dozen people chanting _Justice for Lafayette, justice for the undead!_ right next to him so his words get lost again.

“ _What?_ ”

He gestures for Eliza and Philip to follow him, and they find a place to talk a little way away from the crowd. Small and messy as it is, the protest looks lively even from far away. Alexander’s chest tightens with pride.

“They wouldn’t let us see Laf,” he explains. “Spewed some bull… crap about his doctor forbidding him from seeing anyone, _for his own safety_. We couldn’t stand for it, so we gathered as many people as we could and started protesting.”

There’s identical anger and sorrow on Eliza and Philip’s faces when they hear about Lafayette, but as Alexander moves on to tell them about the protest, their reactions start differing. Where Philip looks excited and full of admiration, Eliza can’t hide her fears.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Alexander frowns. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

She looks around and sighs. “Remember what happened at the last protest you were at?” Like he could ever forget it. His scars haven’t even begun to fade. “And that was authorized. You were doing everything by the book. What you’re doing here… it might end badly, Alexander.”

Of all people, she’s the last Alexander expected to speak against him. Even Philip looks perplexed.

“But Mom, they started it. They’re the ones who broke their promise,” he points out.

She smiles sadly at him. “I know. I know they’re in the wrong. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make them any less dangerous.”

“So what do you suggest we do, let them walk all over us just because we’re frightened?” Alexander challenges her.

“No, I…” She meets her kid’s eyes again. “Philip. Can you go wait in the car, please?”

“What? But Mom…”

“ _Please_ ,” she asks again – not angry, just like she means it. Like she needs Philip to do what she says right now. The kid must understand, because he grabs the key she’s handing him and walks away. He doesn’t even grumble – not half as much as Alexander would have, at least.

“You didn’t need to send him away, you know,” Alexander tells her. “I wasn’t going to start fighting with you in front of him.”

“It’s not that,” Eliza says, her eyes still on her son. Only when he gets inside the car and locks himself in does she turn her attention back to Alexander. She sighs again. “I worry.”

“About Philip? You know you’re free to take him home, right? We can catch a ride back when we’re done, or sneak…”

“About you,” she confesses.

Alexander does a double take. “About me?“

She diverts her eyes again, but only for a moment. When she starts speaking again, she’s looking right at him, unapologetic in her honesty. “Yes, about you. How could I not worry? You’re constantly putting yourself in danger. And you’re part of our lives now. Part of our family. You’re kinda like Philip’s best friend, and I… I care about you, Alexander, more than I…” She catches herself, shakes her head. “I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you. Of having to tell Philip he’s never going to see you again. I know he’s going to lose me one day, but you… You can be here forever. He’s counting on it – _I’m_ counting on it. I know you didn’t ask for any of it, believe me, but this is how things are. You got us invested in you, so you should think twice before throwing your life away, no matter how noble the cause.”

She did it again – made Alexander speechless. He’s never afraid to speak his mind, always knows what to say, but right now he finds himself at a loss for words. Part of him wants to be mad, because who is Eliza to tell him what to do? He didn’t sign any contract, didn’t adopt the kid or ever even dreamed of having any part in his upbringing. Eliza and Philip, they’re the family. Alexander is just the guy who hangs around once a week.

He knows it isn’t that simple, though. Eliza’s words don’t make him feel trapped, they make him feel loved. Needed. If there weren’t any truth to them he’d make a run for it, instead he’s standing here feeling guilty over what he’s about to say.

“I can’t.”

Eliza looks at him, waiting. She knows him too well to even consider the possibility that that’s all he needs to say.

“Lafayette’s in there as we speak, being _tortured_ over some petty vandalism,” he reminds her.

“Alexander, I know, I…” Eliza starts saying, her sweet voice dripping with regret, but he doesn’t let her finish.

“The case I’m working on right now, I’m trying to save a woman from the same fate,” he keeps listing. “She and her husband are both charged with the same crime, and she’s the only one who risks being locked away forever just because she’s PDS. You said it yourself, we were on our best behavior at the King’s College protest and we still ended up in the hospital. Hell, look at Burr, he tries so hard to stay out of trouble and he still can’t be with the girl he loves.” This last one is mostly conjecture, but it does help get his point across. “You want me to stay safe? I want that too, believe me. I’d give anything to finally get to stop fighting. Right now, though, that’s not an option. My very existence makes me a target, and all I can do is choose whether to live in fear or try and do something about it.”

Eliza nods, slowly. “Okay.”

“I am trying to take care of Philip, alright? Just in a different way.”

“Okay.”

“You still don’t like it,” Alexander notices.

“Of course I don’t,” Eliza says. “But I understand. You’re fighting the good fight. I just pray you remember that it’s going to take time, and that you can still have good things in your life while you wait for the world to change.”

He looks at her, and for a moment all he wants is to kiss her. Maybe she’d let him. Maybe they’d get together and it’d be just like Philip wanted, family dinners and field trips and love, steady and reliable. They could be happy, the three of them, Alexander is sure of that.

Then the crowd starts chanting again, louder, and the spell breaks. Alexander knows he’s lightyears from that kind of life. He’s still too much like Laurens, too busy chasing the storm to be tied down to any shore.

Laurens. God, he misses him.

“I’ll get there,” he promises Eliza. “Someday.”

She and Philip end up staying. He doesn’t have permission to walk more than fifteen yards from the car, his mother too worried about a sudden police raid to let him wander off, but they’re there. Alexander is starting to believe they’re the universe’s way of balancing things out after his nightmarish childhood. _Nicely done, universe._

The sun is setting when a guy in a suit comes out of the treatment center. He’s white and living, and security is standing only a few steps behind him. Ready to spring into action.

He asks to speak with Alexander.

“You need to break this off,” he says. He doesn’t sound authoritative, he sounds terrified. “Our staff wants to go home, and they don’t feel safe crossing a parking lot full of protesters.”

Alexander snorts, pleased. “Not so good when _you’re_ the ones trapped here, huh?”

“I was hoping not to get police involved,” the man threatens. Or at least Alexander thinks that was the intent. It’s hard to tell if someone is trying to intimidate you when they’re literally shaking in their boots in front of you.

“Good, then don’t call them. We don’t care either way. We’re staying.”

“We’re going to let you see your friend.”

That does grab Alexander’s attention. “Really?”

“Yes. One of you, for ten minutes. But you have to clear the area first.”

“No way. First we get in, then we get out safely, and _then_ we leave.”

“Be reasonable,” the man all but begs. “There’s people with kids there. They need to go home now.”

“There’s people with kids in the cells too, when are you planning on letting them out?” Alexander shoots back. “You heard my conditions. We can stay here and argue, you can turn this into yet another police attack on innocent protesters, or you can let us in and in less than a half hour your staff will be able to walk a PDS free parking lot, just the way they like it. Your call.”

The man only hesitates for a second. “Follow me.”

“Wait,” Alexander says, and gestures for Mulligan to come closer. “You should go.”

Mulligan gives him a single grateful nod before walking inside.

 

They drive back to New York in silence. Philip falls asleep again within the first few miles, the early morning and excitement of the day draining him completely, and Theodosia follows soon enough. Eliza is focused on the road, and possibly still too shaken to make small talk. Mulligan is definitely shaken – he hasn’t acted like himself since he came out of the treatment center, darkened and withdrawn, and he has spent the entirety of the trip looking out the passenger window without really seeing anything.

It’s driving Alexander crazy.

Predictably, he can only take it for about five more minutes before breaking the silence. He understands that whatever Mulligan saw upset him, but he can’t expect Alexander to give him space at a time like this. Not when he knows what goes on at treatment centers, not when Lafayette is his friend too.

“Are you ever planning on telling us what you saw?” he confronts Mulligan.

His friend closes his eyes. Then, after a long moment, he opens them again, fixes on Alexander a stare that’s sad and angry and terrified and so, so tired. And finally, he speaks.

“We have to get him out of there.”


	29. In which Alexander gives up

“Well, we knew that much already. Didn’t he say anything else? Like if he managed to film him?”

Alexander rubs his temples, tired. Usually, just hearing Laurens’ voice is enough to make his day a great deal better, but today it doesn’t seem to be doing much against Alexander’s headache. If anything, it’s making it worse.

“I told you, they didn’t exactly give him the grand tour. He was in there for less than fifteen minutes – I doubt they bothered recording anything.”

On his laptop screen, Laurens runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “We’re in deep shit, then. You know we need some video proof that he’s stable if we hope to get Laf back. I mean, that was the whole point of your meeting him.”

“You’re not listening,” Alexander says, irritated. He knows Laurens didn’t mean it as an accusation, and he knows he should be happy his friend is finally passionate about something again, but he wasn’t there. Didn’t even bother picking up the phone when Alexander called him to ask for help. Who is he to tell them what they should have done? So instead of sugarcoating it like he promised Mulligan he would do, Alexander bluntly reveals: “He doesn’t _want_ to come back.”

“What?” Laurens asks, and Alexander would bet he thinks he heard it wrong. If only.

“Yeah. According to Mulligan he says he’s good there. He’s… atoning for all the terrible things he did as a rabid, you know, the same old shit.”

He expected Laurens to protest. To swear. To yell and cry and curse the name of the terrible people who fucked up his friend deep enough to convince him that he deserves to suffer. Maybe to start feeling once again like he isn’t doing enough. Or to feel responsible and guilty, like Alexander does sometimes. It was their reckless plan that put Lafayette in harm’s way in the first place, after all.

What he didn’t expect was for Laurens to nod in understanding, a calculating expression on his face. “Okay. Good.”

“Are you fucking high?” Alexander explodes. “They messed with his head. Big time. There’s nothing good about that!”

At least Laurens has the decency to look mortified. “No, I didn’t mean… Look, I’m just saying it can help us, okay? If he shows remorse they might consider letting him go.”

“It’s not his first run through the meat grinder,” Alexander reminds him. “If he shows remorse they’re going to keep him right where he is and brainwash him some more.”

“Normally, yes, but he’s connected.” He doesn’t sound smug about it, he never did, nor does he sound ashamed anymore. He’s just stating it as fact. “I really do need more if I’m to convince my father he’s worth calling in a favor, though. Did Mulligan tell you anything else?”

Alexander shakes his head. “I told you, he’s been anything but forthcoming this past couple of days.” A thought crosses his mind, then, and it’s out before he realizes it’s not the best idea to voice it. “Of course, you can always try talking to him yourself. If he’s anything like you, he’ll be thrilled to talk to anyone who isn’t yours truly.”

Laurens frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why did you call Mulligan and not me the other day?” Alexander blurts out. He didn’t even know it bothered him so much until now. “You guys don’t even get along these days. And you’d rather hear from him than from me? Even though _I_ was the one who’d called you in the first place?”

“Why wouldn’t we be getting along?” Laurens asks. Completely missing the point once again.

Alexander makes a vague gesture with his hand. “I don’t know, you guys weren’t exactly on the best of terms when you left.”

“Oh, right. Don’t worry, that’s all settled. We talked it out on the way to the airport.”

“Wonderful.” Alexander shakes himself. “That’s not what I was getting at, though.”

Laurens sighs, resigned. “What _were_ you getting at?”

“Are you actively avoiding me?”

Laurens bites his lip and looks away, and Alexander feels his heart sink. Looks like he isn’t just being paranoid, then.

“Seriously?” he asks softly, forgetting for a moment to conceal how hurt he is. “Why?”

“I’m not really avoiding you,” Laurens deflects. “I mean, we’re talking right now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, and I still have to get over the shock.”

Laurens smiles for just a second. Then his voice breaks. “Why does everything have to be so hard?”

“It doesn’t,” Alexander argues. “It really doesn’t. Just talk to me, alright? We can work this out.”

He hates that they have to have this conversation through a fucking computer. He wants Laurens to be here, wants to run his fingers through his hair and throw an arm around his shoulders and hold him as long as it takes to remind him that what they have is worth the pain.

All he can do, though, is sit there like an idiot while Laurens lets his insecurities wipe everything away.

“I can’t talk to you, that’s the problem.”

“What are you talking about? We talk all the time. Or used to, before you left.”

“Yeah, and it was hard enough. But now it’s torture.” He closes his eyes, bracing himself for what he’s about to say next. “I see it, the kind of life you could have if you weren’t so set on sacrificing your happiness to try and help me. And I’m sure you can see it too.”

Alexander thinks of Eliza and Philip, of coming home to them every day, of how he wanted to kiss her just two days ago. He… doesn’t hate the picture.

He hates himself for it.

“I mean, what the fuck are we even doing here? Why do we need so badly to keep alive something that never existed in the first place? I’ll tell you why, it’s because I’m as selfish as you are selfless. I need you, you need someone to save, it’s a match made in heaven. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep standing in your way. I can’t keep pretending this is the best thing we both can have, ‘cause it’s not. It’s the worst. I mean, look at us. I can’t even fucking talk to you anymore, ‘cause every time I do I feel like this small, horrible… undeserving thing, and it hurts. It fucking hurts, Alexander. I already know you’re too good for me, and being constantly reminded of it isn’t doing me any good.”

Alexander feels sick. “You know that’s bullshit. God,” he says, and almost chokes on the word. “This perfect life you’re imagining for me, it doesn’t exist, alright? Especially not without you in it. I love you.”

Laurens flinches. “Don’t say that.”

“Fine, but it won’t make it any less true.” Alexander is tired, so tired. What use is following Laurens’ stupid rules if they don’t even help his friend feel less like shit? “You know I won’t pressure you into anything you’re not ready for, but you should do the same for me. And I’m not ready to lose you. You’re my best friend.”

Laurens huffs a bitter laughter. “I can’t be friends with you, Alexander,” he says. “Not anymore. I’m too much in love with you.”

Alexander’s chest hurts. He wants to cry, and he couldn’t say himself whether they would be happy or sad tears. This is date night all over again. Laurens giving him a little taste of what he wants, opening up to him just enough to make it twice more painful when he takes everything away. The worst part is that Alexander still believes it’s worth it.

“Let’s not be friends, then,” he says, one last, desperate attempt. “Let me be with you.”

“No, I can’t,” Laurens protests. He looks terrified. “I’m not ready. I’m still cookie dough.”

“You what?”

Laurens shakes his head. “It’s… just a stupid thing, forget about it. The point is I can’t, okay? You know I can’t. I’m too much of a mess, I need to work on myself first. Get better. Get… normal.”

“Being normal is way overrated,” Alexander tells him, and he knows it’s a weak counterargument. He’s letting Laurens win the discussion, he realizes. The saddest part is that it doesn’t terrify him.

He’s done. It’s over.

Laurens smiles a sad smile. “Not from where I’m standing, believe me.”

Alexander nods. “Have you talked it out with your therapist?” he needs to know.

“Yeah. She agrees with me,” Laurens says.

“Of course she does.”

They stay silent for a while, which just never happens, and it’s more heartbreaking than everything they’ve talked about. Alexander doesn’t know what to say, though. He’s angry, and hurt, and cares too much about Laurens to voice those feelings. How can he fight for them knowing how it makes Laurens feel? How can he ask him for one more chance knowing that he’d be condemning his friend to god knows how many more days of self-doubt and jealousy and pain?

He can’t. Laurens is right – he needs to heal first, learn to accept that he deserves every good thing that happens in his life and so much more. And it’s a journey Alexander can’t take for him. It’s funny, all this time Laurens has been convinced he was slowing Alexander down when actually it was always the other way round. Alexander hopes one day he’ll realize it too.

He takes a deep breath. Time to let go. “Take care of yourself, Laurens. I mean it.”

“I am,” Laurens promises. “Goodbye, Alexander. Thank you for everything.”

_Well fuck you for everything, Laurens. Fuck you for jumping in when I got into that fight my first night at the Archive. Fuck you for your addictive coffee and your reckless idealism, fuck you for asking me to write with you and for all the nights out. Fuck you for being the first person who made me feel alive again. Fuck you for your lips, your hands, your cock, your skin. Fuck you for your scars and your inability to love. Fuck you for being my friend._

_Just, fuck you._

“Yeah. You too.”

 

The way Alexander sees it, there’s two things you can do when life – or people, as it happens most of the times – fuck you over. You can curl up in a ball and wallow, count your faults and lose yourself in the deep woods of what-could-have-been’s. Or you can find something to take your mind off the sadness, focus all of yourself into a project until you’re too tired to feel a thing. Neither of these choices is going to help you feel better, mind you. There’s no easy way out, no shortcut through the pain, all you get to decide is how to spend the excruciating time it takes before you’re more or less healed.

Alexander has always picked the latter, and John fucking Laurens is not the one who’s going to turn him into a wallower. He knows himself, though, knows it’s only going to be a matter of time before he loses it if he stays in his room, where every corner, every spring in the mattresses, and even the now blank walls remind him of Laurens’ presence. Of his absence.

He needs to get out.

On an impulse, he shoves all the files he has about the Reynolds case into his briefcase and leaves the room. Mulligan has evening classes, the first after spring break, so he isn’t around to see him slip out of the apartment. Good thing too, because Alexander doesn’t feel like explaining to him why he needs to be alone and where he’s going.

To tell the truth, he doesn’t know himself. The Archive seems like the obvious choice, and that alone is a good reason to rule out the option. Going there would mean running into Angelica and having to tell _her_ what just happened, and besides, she mentioned the possibility of Jefferson showing up and Alexander knows she doesn’t want anyone around when he does. Angelica is too much of a professional to enjoy fighting with her business partner in front of costumers, it doesn’t matter if they’re close friends.

Walking around aimlessly isn’t helping, though. His unoccupied mind can’t help circling back to Laurens, to how good it felt to walk the streets side by side with him, to how that’s never going to happen again because Laurens isn’t coming back, and even if he were to, he’s made it pretty clear that he wouldn’t want anything to do with Alexander.

Shit. At this rate, he’s going to have to move to another city.

He considers catching the first subway to as far as possible. Who knows, maybe he’ll find a semi-deserted bar there where he can sit and focus on his work. He never gets to find out, though, because just as the idea pops into his mind, his phone starts ringing.

A small, naive part of him hopes it’s Laurens calling to say he changed his mind. Sometimes even Alexander hates his brain.

Predictably, it isn’t Laurens. It’s Maria Reynolds.

“What’s up?” Alexander asks as soon as he picks up the phone.

There’s no answer on the other end, only indistinct noise. Banging and sniffing. And something that sounds a little too much like a man shouting in the background.

“Maria? Is everything okay?” Alexander tries again. Shit. It’s a long way to the Reynolds’ apartment, he knows he’ll never make it on time to prevent… whatever’s happening. Assuming it was really James Reynolds he heard and not some other asshole.

He’s at an impasse. If he gets into a subway car, he’s not going to be able to talk to Maria on the phone, but he knows he can’t be of much help just standing there. Before he can make any decision, though, he hears someone speak on the other end.

“… Alexander? Are you still there?” Maria’s voice is shaky with pain and fear, but Alexander has never been so happy to hear it.

“Yes. Where are you? What’s going on?”

“It’s–it’s okay now. I’m okay, you don’t have to…” She breaks down. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Alexander takes a deep breath – as if it could calm her and not just himself. “It’s okay, I’m glad you did. It’s going to be fine. Just tell me where you are, I’ll come pick you up.”

She pauses, perplexed. “You don’t have a car.”

“I know. I’ll walk.”

That makes her laugh. “You’re one of a kind, Alexander.“

He doesn’t have to walk in the end – he’s lucky enough to find a taxi driver who likes his money more than he dislikes what Alexander is. A few minutes and the cab is stopping in the small park where Maria promised to wait for him. Only when he spots her does Alexander dare end the call.

She practically flings herself into his arms, sobbing against his chest. Alexander never thought they’d end up like this, he and the fierce woman he met months ago, the one who didn’t take shit from anyone and got him admitted to Mulligan’s exhibition like it was the most natural thing in the world for her to make demands, and for people to listen. That’s what life does to you, though. Alexander thinks of his mother and holds Maria even tighter.

“What happened?” he asks after a while, stroking her hair.

“James,” she replies, all of her heartbreak and contempt seeping from the single word.

Alexander suspected as much, but he still can’t help being surprised. “I thought you weren’t living with him anymore.”

“I’m not,” Maria confirms. “He called me, said he needed to see me. I thought… I thought he might want to apologize. Take back what he said in court.” She draws in a shaky breath. “He didn’t.”

“Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?” Alexander tries to take a step back to look at her, but she doesn’t let him, holding onto him as tight as ever.

“He tried,” she confesses. “I swear I never would have gone if I’d known. I just… I thought he deserved a second chance.”

“Man rarely do, trust me.”

“I know. I know, and you must think I’m so stupid.” She finally lets go a little, just enough to look up at him. “But me and James, I thought it was it, you know? We’ve been together since I was fifteen – and I didn’t have much in the way of a family before him. He’s the one who looked after me. We looked after each other.” Her voice breaks again, but her eyes are firmly set on Alexander’s as she says like it’s the simplest thing in the world: “He’s my everything. Always has been.”

Alexander would find the spiel a lot more convincing if he hadn’t heard all of it before. Way more times than he can stomach.

“Has he always been abusive, too?” he wants to know. “Even when you were still alive?”

Maria looks away. “Sometimes. Only when I made him mad, though.”

“Oh, well, that makes it okay, then.”

“What do you want me to say? I know he wasn’t perfect, but I loved him. Isn’t that what love is, taking the good with the bad?”

“Yeah, if the bad is him liking some band you can’t stand or having an irrational fear of enclosed spaces. Nothing justifies what James did to you,” Alexander tries to explain.

Maria doesn’t want to hear it, though. “You know what, calling you was a mistake. I don’t need to hear this.” She takes a step back, and already she’s walking away. “Thank you for coming, Alexander. I think I can handle it from here.”

“Wait, no, I’m sorry,” Alexander says, going after her. He makes to grab her arm but stops when he sees her terrified expression. Right. Not the best idea to force physical contact on her. “I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I’m not judging you for what you did in the past. How could I, I didn’t even know you back then. I’m just worried.”

That finally gets her to stop and listen. She might not be looking at Alexander yet, but it’s a start.

It only takes him a moment to find the words he wants to say. He’s been wanting to say them forever. “I don’t want you to make excuses for James, or to romanticize your time together. I don’t care how harmless it seems – it’s not. You start with that, and it’s only a matter of time before your pride crumbles and you let him back into your life, and he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness or your sympathy. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve your love. You know who deserves all of that? You. And he’s made it clear time and time again that he’s not going to give that to you, so it’s high time you cut him loose and start looking for something better.”

Maria turned to him at some point during his speech, and now she’s looking at Alexander with a grateful smile. “Thank you.” She leans in to kiss him on the cheek. Her eyes go pensive after. “You know, I don’t think anyone’s ever talked so kindly to me before. Well, except for Aaron.”

“Right.” Alexander tries not to be annoyed at the mention of Burr. For how much he tries, though, he can’t restrain from asking: “Why did you call me and not him, by the way? He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

Maria shrugs. “I don’t know, you’re first person that came to mind when James started threatening me.” It’s a sad, frightening image, but her little smile is mostly just cheeky as she jokes: “And you did good, so… you’re officially my knight in shining armor now.”

“Flattering as it sounds, I really hope you don’t need any more protection in the near future,” Alexander confesses.

“Noted. I’ll try and stay away from the bad boys,” she promises with a wink. How she’s already talking about it so nonchalantly, Alexander will never understand.

He ends up inviting her to spend the night at the apartment, because where else is she supposed to go? She doesn’t have her own place, she’s crashing on a cousin’s couch for now, but it’s a pretty long way away and she and her cousin kinda had a fight because she didn’t want Maria to go see James and it would be cruel to send her there to face the judgement while the wound is still so fresh, wouldn’t it?

They’re both making excuses. Truth is, they’d rather be around each other than anyone else. Alexander isn’t going to judge Maria for going back to her husband, and she isn’t going to pester him about Laurens, and that’s all they ask for right now.

The apartment is silent when they step inside. Either Mulligan isn’t home, or he’s locked up in his room to study. Knowing his roommate, Alexander would bet on the former.

“Yo Mulls, I’m back!” he announces just in case.

There’s no reply.

“Looks like we have the place all for ourselves.”

Maria smiles knowingly. “Awesome. We should take advantage of that and get crazy.”

“Oh yeah.” Alexander flops down on the couch, his eyes going from Maria to the briefcase in his own lap. “Wanna go through your case files again?”

She huffs, half amused, half disappointed. “Seriously? That’s your idea of illicit fun?”

“That’s my idea of saving your ass. Need I remind you your trial is coming up?” he counters.

“No,” she says, and sits down next to him with a sigh. “Aaron was right about you.”

“ _Aaron_ can shut his mouth. God, he’s such a hypocrite. What did he say, that I’m all work no play and a total drag? Like he’s the life of the party.”

“Actually,” Maria interrupts him, “he said I was in good hands with you, ‘cause you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t sleep until he sees justice done.”

“Oh.” Friggin’ Burr. It’s not enough to throw curveballs at Alexander all by himself, now he’s even sending his friends to do it for him. “Right. Can we get to work?”

“Sure,” Maria accepts. Then she adds, under her breath but still loud enough for Alexander to hear: “Total drag.”

He punches her lightly on the shoulder.

Fate couldn’t have been more on his side, to be honest. After weeks of wracking his brain over it, Alexander has come to the conclusion that they can only win this case by playing the same game James Reynolds and Jefferson are playing, but better. They need to lay all the blame on James, expose him for the abusive piece of shit he is and portray Maria not only as his unwilling accomplice, but as his first and principal victim, too. It’s not going to be easy because it’s still the word of a living against that of a PDS sufferer, but as far as living go, James is the most despicable specimen you can find and if the judge has any insight or humanity she will be willing to listen to their case against him.

And really, Alexander has the foundation to build a pretty solid case there. There’s the marks on Maria’s body, undeniable evidence of a violence that stretched over the course of months, maybe years. There’s the fact that James was supposed to cash Beckley’s money, not Maria, which makes her look way more like bait than an equal partner. And Alexander just found out that they started seeing each other when she was barely more than a kid with no family to teach her better – no wonder she got herself caught up in all that shit with him. Yeah, Alexander can win this, alright. All he needs is Maria’s cooperation, and he doesn’t think he’s going to have any problem ensuring it after what happened tonight.

Or at least that’s what he thought. As soon as he mentions the plan to Maria, though, she starts shaking her head, frightened. “No. No, I can’t do that. You need to find another way.”

“There’s no other way. I’ve looked everywhere, believe me.”

“Then you have to look better.”

Really, would it be so wrong for things to be easy just this once? “It’s a good plan, Maria,” he tries to convince her. “It might not get you free of all the charges, but I’ll be pushing for community service and I’m sure the judge will agree to that. In just a few months, you can be a free woman.” As free as a PDS sufferer can be, at least.

“Alexander,” she says, looking him right in the eye as seriously as he’s ever seen her, “I can’t.”

“Why not?” he asks, frustrated.

“Because it’s not true!” Maria bursts out. “Is that what you think of me, that I’m some frightened girl who just went along with whatever her boyfriend told her to do? I’m not. Going after Beckley, that was my idea. We came up with the plan together. I told you, we were partners, James and I.”

Alexander takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, but the jury doesn’t need to know that.”

“I get it. But I’m not going to play that… tearjerker of a role you want me to play, either. Tell the world that I was forced to sleep with Beckley? That I stuck with James all these years after he sold me out like a piece of meat? What do you think my family is going to think of that?”

“I thought you didn’t have a family other than James?”

“No, I do. I mean, they’re only my family by name, but I do.” She hesitates for a moment before adding: “And then there’s my daughter, of course.”

“Your what?” Alexander can’t believe it. This girl is full of surprises.

“Didn’t Burr tell you? That’s how I met him. I went to ask him if there was anything I could do to get custody back.”

“Because James has it now?”

Maria shakes her head. “My aunt and uncle. I was very young when I had her, you see, and not the most reliable person. The judge thought it best that she grew up in a healthier environment and James agreed. I think he was relieved not to have a kid to take care of on top of everything. I only get to see her once a week,” she adds softly.

As sorry as he feels for Maria, Alexander kinda agrees with the judge’s decision. He knows what it’s like to grow up with an abusive father, and he wouldn’t wish it on an innocent child.

“So you see,” Maria gets back on track, “I can’t take the stand and talk about James like that. I don’t want my little girl to think her father was a monster.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Alexander challenges her.

“No,” Maria replies without even thinking. “I told you, it’s complicated.”

“It’s not,” he argues. “He beat you. On a regular basis. Doesn’t your daughter deserve to know that? Maybe it’ll teach her to steer clear of certain types of men.”

“She’s seven. She doesn’t need the boy talk, she needs to know that her parents are good people who love each other and love her.”

“And a mother who’s locked up in a sorry excuse for a mental facility, you think she needs that?”

“Of course not,” Maria agrees. “That’s where you come into play.”

Alexander falls back against the headrest and stares at the ceiling, defeated. “What am I supposed to do? The trial’s at the end of the month, _this_ month, and you just destroyed my whole battle strategy. I’m a great lawyer, not a miracle worker.”

“I’m not asking you to work a miracle, I’m just asking you to do your best,” Maria clarifies. “And to let me keep my pride. It’s all I have left.”

Damn this girl and her ability to render Alexander completely incapable of telling her no. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do,” he caves.

She smiles. “Thank you.” She stands up, way too peppy considering everything that went down tonight. “You have any alcohol in here? I need to drown my sorrows.”

“Mm… Check the cabinet,” Alexander replies distractedly. He’s going through Beckley’s statement again, trying to find something to work with, something to use against him. It’s kinda hard to make a liar out of him when they have the pictures with him and Maria to prove him right.

The sudden clang of cutlery tumbling to the floor almost has him jumping out of his skin.

“Oops,” Maria says.

“Not _that_ cabinet.” Alexander clarifies, standing up to lend her a hand, and she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, I get it now.” She carefully starts putting everything back in its place. “Why do you have so much stuff, anyway? You’re PDS, it’s not like you cook your own meals every day, is it?”

Alexander shakes his head. “Nah, they belonged to a friend of mine who used to live here.” He says it quickly, trying not to focus too hard on that past tense that still hurts a little. “He’s a living.”

Maria gives him a funny look. “Consorting with the living? You’re full of surprises, Alexander,” she quips.

He doesn’t feel like talking about it, so he walks to the right cabinet instead and opens it, revealing a few bottles of cheap PDS booze. Neither he nor Mulligan have been up to buying the good stuff lately. It’s not like they get many guests, after all – Alexander is too busy with the case and Mulligan is too upset about Lafayette to invite girls over like he used to.

Maria doesn’t look too thrilled. “Well, this is disappointing.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. If I’d known you were coming over I would have tried to muster up something better.” He hesitates. “You want to go out and buy something? We can be back in…”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she cuts him off, grabbing one of the bottles. “Ignore me, I’m spoilt. You’re being way too kind, Alexander, I really really appreciate it.”

“You should,” he says, winking. “I don’t do this for just anyone, you know.”

“Are you saying I’m special?” she asks, looking at him from under her lashes.

Alexander bursts out laughing. “Don’t act like you didn’t know already.”

They move back to the couch, where Alexander manages to pretend to be trying to work for six impressive minutes before giving up. Maria is not the kind of woman that makes it easy to ignore her. One thing is for sure, though: her company is exactly what Alexander needed to forget the heartbreak over Laurens and the stress about everything else. They drink, and they talk, and they curse James and Beckley and Jefferson and the system, and they laugh. They laugh a lot, in fact, and while that’s mostly due to the alcohol, Alexander can’t help feeling grateful to Maria.

“I’m glad you’re here tonight,” he tells her. “I mean, I’m sorry about James and everything but I’m so glad you’re here.”

She laughs, bubbly as champagne, and leans closer. “Me too,” she says in a whisper.

And she kisses him.

Alexander drops the bottle he was holding and uses his free hand to bring her closer. It feels wrong, kissing someone other than Laurens, someone who hasn’t fought alongside him or stayed up with him ’til dawn, who hasn’t shared his deepest wounds with Alexander and helped him mend his own. Who just wants to make out without stopping every two seconds to come up with a response to Alexander’s constant quipping. Who doesn’t know him, not really, and can only imagine what his eyes look like when he wants to cry, or when he’s bursting with love, or when he’s taking in the sight of Manhattan from the Brooklyn Bridge or getting ready for a fight or completely overwhelmed or waking up in a hospital or lit by the flickering light of a gasoline fire. Who wasn’t his best friend, his brother first and his lover second.

Laurens is gone, though, and Maria kisses like it’s the only thing in the world worth living for, like both their lives depend on it. Grabbing that lifeline is the most natural thing Alexander can do.

He lets her climb on top of him. She’s undone the first few buttons of his shirt and is sucking marks on his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Alexander lets his hands slip under her blouse and starts toying with the clasp of her bra without opening it.

Maria notices his hesitation. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

He wants to remind her how dangerous this is, that she’s his client and sleeping together would make their case even more desperate if someone were to find out. He wants to tell her about what happened with Laurens, how the wound is still so fresh and the alcohol seems to be making him nostalgic rather than making him forget about it. Then he thinks better of it.

“Let’s go to my room,” he suggests. “My roommate could be back any minute, I don’t want him to interrupt us with one of his tirades about shared spaces.”

She giggles, getting off of him. “Good idea. I’m planning on seeing this through.”

Alexander takes her hand and leads her to his bed. It was small for him and Laurens and it’s still small for him and Maria, but she doesn’t complain. In fact, she enthusiastically pushes him on it and straddles him before finally taking her blouse off to reveal her perfect lace-clad breasts. Alexander buries a hand in her hair and drags her down with him, kissing all of her upper body as she grabs his ass, head thrown back, lipstick smudged, dark curls a mess.

She’s so beautiful he wants to cry. Damn booze.

And she’s good, too, her touch waking up Alexander’s slumbering senses even more quickly than Laurens’ used to. She has him writhing and moaning in no time, and while she isn’t that talkative in bed, it’s clear from her satisfied smirk that she’s relishing her power over him. Alexander doesn’t mind. She deserves to be in total control for a while, and he can hardly complain when she’s making him feel so amazing.

The trouble of hooking up with someone who’s PDS too is that there’s no climax from either end, no well-defined moment of transition from the actual sex to the aftermath and cuddles. After twenty minutes or so Maria is riding him hard and fast, pleasure flooding all through their joined bodies, and they could go on forever if they wanted to. It’s as amazing as it is worrisome, because it’s way too easy to get lost in the addictive sensations and forget everything else.

It’s late, much later when Maria breaks their dance and comes lying next to him. She smiles when Alexander whines at the loss of friction between them and puts a finger on his lip. “Behave,” she tells him. “If you’re good, I might let you have another go at it later.”

“Mm, yes please,” he says, kissing her mouth.

She kisses him back for a few moments before pulling back. “You got a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke,” Alexander reveals.

“Of course you don’t, you’re a good boy,” Maria teases him. There’s something else in her voice, though, something that tells Alexander she doesn’t mind that at all.

Either way, she couldn’t be more wrong. “Sure. Ask NYPD or the moneybags in the 10021 ZIP code, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to tell you how good I am.”

“Well, I’m sure if you crossed them you had your reasons,” Maria insists. “You’re like Robin Hood, standing on the wrong side of the law to protect the underdog.”

The image is as ridiculous as it is flattering, and Alexander would probably tell her if he hadn’t just remembered something else.

“Wait just a second,” he says, standing up and going to Laurens’ old cabinet. It hasn’t been its usual mess since Laurens left and took most of his crap with him, but he did leave a few things behind and sure as hell there it is, an old pack of cigarettes that Alexander is 100% sure is there to mock him. Why else would Laurens neglect to pack it? It’s not like it takes up any space, and he knew how much it annoyed Alexander when they were trying to get it on and out of the blue Laurens decided he was going to die if he didn’t have a smoke right there.

Joke’s on him, anyway, because now Alexander is going to give it to the wonderful woman who’s here with him instead of running miles away and hiding behind half-assed excuses.

Yeah, he’s not bitter at all.

Maria lights herself a cigarette and fixes on him a stare that’s part thoughtful, part cheeky. “So what's your deal?" she asks after a while.

"What do you mean?" Alexander answers with another question.

"I'm going to jail and my husband is responsible for it,” she states like it’s all already decided. It drives Alexander mad. “I have nothing to lose even if we get caught. But you? Why would you risk your job over a one-night stand?"

Good question. Alexander wishes he didn’t know the answer, but he doesn’t even have to think about it. “I guess I needed a distraction."

Maria nods, then frowns. “From what?"

"Life,” he replies, cryptic.

She huffs. “That's ironic."

"I guess it is."

"Well, what is it about life that's pushing you to make such terrible choices?" she prods, shifting her position so that she’s lying on her stomach.

"A lot of things." Alexander deflects. He can see she isn’t satisfied with the answer, though, so before she has time to ask him to be more specific he clarifies: “Okay, not true. It's just... When I moved in here I had three roommates, right? And now one’s in a treatment center, one won’t talk to me or anyone else, really, and the other moved miles away because he can’t deal with the fact that we’re in love with each other. They were my family, and I’ve lost them and I don’t know how to fix things.”

“Wait,” Maria interrupts him. “Wait wait wait. He?”

“He what?”

“You said he. _He_ can’t deal with the fact that you two are in love.”

“Oh. Yes, I used to sleep with a guy,” Alexander tells her. “Why, you got a problem with that?”

"Oh no, not at all,” she says quickly. “Just, you know, it would have been nice to know before we got physical. Give a girl a heads-up if you're going to give her HIV and all." She winks, but Alexander is not amused.

”Don't joke about that."

"Fine, sorry." Maria licks her lips. “So he loves you too? What’s the problem then, is he in the closet or something?”

Alexander can’t help smiling at the thought. “Nah, no closet could contain him. But he’s… I don’t know, something must have happened to him that convinced him he can’t love anyone right and I’m better off without him. And for how much I swear to him that it isn’t true he can’t seem to believe it. And it’s killing me, you know? Because I love him so much, but he doesn’t want me to, so maybe it would be better just to forget about it and move on. Stop wasting all my chances just because I refuse to get over him.”

“Why, you got your eyes on someone else?” Maria wants to know.

“No.” He’s lying though, he knows that. “Maybe. But she has a kid who adores me, so I can’t start dating her if I’m not 100% sure I’m over the guy. It would be too cruel.”

He realizes a little too late that maybe Maria was hoping he would just say _yes, it’s you_. If she was, though, she hides her disappointment like a pro.

“My god, your life is a mess” is all she says, and she has a point.

“Yep. That's why I drink to forget and have dangerous one-night stands,” he quips.

Maria laughs. “At least you're less of a mystery now." She pulls herself up so that she’s sitting on the bed with her back to the wall. “Look, I don't know if you're desperate enough to take advice from a woman who lies to her lovers for a living and is married to a man who's doing everything in his power to send her behind bars, but just in case you are... I think you should take some time away from the guy. Not my strong suit, but I hear it’s helpful. If you get over him, you can try and start something with the girl. But if you still miss him like hell, then it’s true love and you have to fight for it no matter what.”

"Sounds like good advice,” Alexander says diplomatically. He doesn’t ask whether she did it with James, whether it’s because she realized it was ‘true love’ that she kept going back to him every time he beat her and cheated on her. He wants to, but he also wants tonight to be about growing, not obsessing over their past mistakes.

Maria smirks. “You're welcome."

"Sounds like a good recipe for heartbreak too,” he amends. “I think I'll stick to the pining and drinking and meaningless sex."

"What do you mean meaningless, I thought we were bonding here!" she complains in an outraged tone that’s only partly faux.

"We are,” Alexander agrees, kissing her hip. “And you were wrong before, you know. You're not going to jail. I might be terrible with personal stuff, but there's no way I'm losing this case."

She looks down at him in a mixture of fondness and surprise. “What, you got a plan already?”

Before Alexander can admit that no, he doesn’t, but that has never stopped him from kicking ass, the door to his room is opened with an eagerness that hasn’t been seen in the apartment since Lafayette was taken.

“Hams, did you hear…” Mulligan starts saying. Then he takes in Maria, sitting half-naked on Alexander’s bed with what at this point is little more than a stub between her kiss-swollen lips, and possibly even Alexander himself, lying next to her fully naked and with a hand on her smooth thigh, and he slams the door shut once again – not quick enough to hide his muttered _fuck_ , though. “Get dressed and get over here, Hams,” he shouts from behind the door. “I need to speak with you.”

Alexander sighs. He’s thrilled Mulligan is finally speaking again, but did he have to pick this exact moment to start speaking to him?

“I’ll be right back,” he promises Maria, throwing on some random clothes. He kisses her one last time before leaving the room.

He regrets it the second he steps into the living room. “Put a sock on the door next time, will you?” Mulligan scolds him.

“Learn to knock next time, will you?” Alexander shoots back.

“How was I supposed to know? Laurens isn’t here.”

“And? He’s the only one allowed to have sex in that room?”

“No,” Mulligan protests with an exasperated sigh, “I did think he was the only one allowed to have sex with _you_ , though.”

Oh. You have to hand it to Mulligan, it’s kinda cool that he’s looking out for Laurens even after all the head butting of the last couple of months. He’s a loyal friend. Completely off track, of course, but loyal nonetheless.

“That was never part of the arrangement,” Alexander brushes it off. He just remembered he doesn’t feel like talking about Laurens, least of all to Mulligan. “Didn’t you have something urgent to tell me?”

Mulligan gives him a look so long it’s just shy of being unnerving. “He didn’t tell you, then.”

“Mulligan, I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Laurens called,” he finally reveals. “He said his father got a call from that dude he knows at the treatment center. Yeah,” he says, smiling as he sees Alexander brighten up at the news, “apparently our protest convinced the powers that be that keeping Laf locked up is more trouble than it’s worth, and that Anderson dude wanted to know if Laurens’ dad really thought Laf wouldn’t be a threat to the community if he’s released. And he told him he doesn’t know Laf personally, but his son can vouch for him, and then Laurens thought it’d be even better if someone more reliable did it and gave them Washington’s number, and he must have made a pretty good case for Laf because according to Laurens we should get a call any day now.” He smiles again, and for the first time in months it’s completely genuine, unsullied by dark thoughts. “He’s coming home, Hams. Lafayette is coming home.”


	30. In which Alexander strikes a deal

Alexander loves his job. He really, really loves his job. He’s lived for debating and arguing and winning people over to his side since he found out he was very good at it, and he’s always been very good at it. So of course he’s always wanted to be a lawyer – even as a kid, no job could be more appealing to him than being the guy everyone listens to, whose words and wit can decide the fate of countless people.

That being said, he’s sure he would enjoy it a great deal more if it wasn’t for the clients. Dumb clients who fuck up, try to make things better and only end up making Alexander’s job harder. Or spoilt clients who fuck up and expect Alexander to save their asses, but only at their own impossible conditions. Like Maria, for instance. Alexander doesn’t really care for her reasons – all he knows is that he had the perfect plan to get her out of the mess she and her deadbeat husband got her into and now he’s meeting his opposition in a fancy living restaurant just to beg for a chance. All because Maria had to keep her stupid pride.

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that Lafayette is finally coming home from the treatment center this evening so not everything sucks in the world, and enters the restaurant.

It’s a warm, sunny day in the streets, but it’s pretty gloomy inside. Dark wooden tables, black walls and floor, dim lights. Alexander doesn’t even have both feet in and already a waiter in a suit that looks more expensive than anything Alexander owns is crowding him, asking how he can help. He decides he doesn’t like this place. Granted, he’d decided he didn’t like it when Jefferson told him he would pick their meeting spot ‘cause whatever Alexander picked, he wouldn’t have approved of, but now he knows for sure.

“I’m with Thomas Jefferson,” he explains. “He made a reservation for three, I think?”

“Of course,” the waiter says. “Follow me.”

He escorts Alexander to a separate room, smaller, more intimate, but still unbelievably dark. Seriously, the ambience is depressing him and he’s an undead, how do the living stand it?

Jefferson is already sitting at the table with Beckley and a strongly built, but still quite sickly guy Alexander is fair sure he’s never seen before. Table for four, then. He reluctantly takes the seat the waiter is offering him – which also happens to be the only one left.

“Hamilton,” Jefferson greets him. “Glad you could join us. This is my friend James Madison, and you already know Tim Beckley.”

They all stand up again just to shake hands. Normally, Alexander would appreciate the courtesy, but today all he can think of is how absurd this social conventions are. They’d spit at him in the street, Beckley and Jefferson for sure, and probably Madison too since he’s friend with the likes of them, but just because they’re all in an expensive restaurant wearing suits and talking business it’s par for the course that they’re going to pretend they don’t hate each other. It’s as sickening as it is necessary.

“I hope you don’t mind that we started without you,” Jefferson carries on with the pleasantries. “We weren’t sure if you were even coming, and we figured that since you won’t be eating with us…”

Sweet. Couldn’t they think of that before they decided to meet for lunch of all times?

Still, Alexander doesn’t mind. Quite the contrary, actually – Jefferson’s lame attempts at provoking him are only giving him an excuse to fight back. “No trouble at all. It’s hardly your fault that PDS subway lines are so unreliable, isn’t it?” he asks. Okay, so he probably needs to tone down the fake poshness a bit.

Beckley and Madison exchange a surprised look, and Alexander can’t help wondering whether they were expecting him to come out and say it like that. _Yes, I’m PDS, yes, I know how you feel about it, no, I don’t give a fuck. Can we talk about what’s actually important, now?_

Jefferson just looks at him with interest, like this meeting is a way for him to learn about his opposition and he’s fascinated by every single facet of his personality that Alexander lets him see. He’s probably going to see a lot – Alexander has never been particularly good at or interested in hiding. It doesn’t matter, anyway. If this lunch goes well, Jefferson is not going to want to work against him; if it doesn’t, he isn’t going to need all that information to defeat Alexander.

“So. Can we just accept that we live in a sad cruel world and move on to the matter we’re all here to discuss?”

“Right to the chase,” Jefferson comments. “I like it.”

Madison mumbles back something that Alexander can’t catch. Great, now they’ve moved on to talking about him like he isn’t even there. Maria owes him so bad.

“Well then, feel free to state your case, Hamilton,” Jefferson invites. Like it’s up to him when and how Alexander is going to speak.

Alexander takes a deep breath. “I have a proposition for you,” he begins. “An… attack plan, if you will, that I believe will let us sort things out and let everyone come out a winner.”

He takes a beat to assess his interlocutor’s reactions. Jefferson seems to be focused on his food and Madison on Jefferson. Only Beckley is staring right back at him. “I’m listening,” he concedes.

“Drop the charges against Maria Reynolds.”

That does get Jefferson’s attention. He sniggers. “Riiiight. Everyone’s best interest, huh? Why don’t we just call things what they are?” He deliberately takes a sip of French wine and presses the napkin to his lips, forcing everyone to wait until he’s done. “You know you’re never going to win the case against us, and you’re here to beg for mercy.”

“Hardly,” Alexander assures him. _Absolutely_ , he thinks. “You think I’d let the whole fate of my case rest on the kindness of your heart? I do have a strategy. One you’ll never see coming.” He smirks in that superior way of his that always makes people want to punch him. Nobody takes him up for the challenge, but worried glances are exchanged – and they mostly come from Beckley’s direction.

Jefferson, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to be as concerned. “Good for you, I look forward to seeing your strategy in action. Unless, of course, you’re bluffing – which would seem like the most likely option, since you wouldn’t bother trying to make nice with us if you already knew how to crush us in court.”

“What are you talking about, you guys are so cool, being friends with you would be a dream come true,” Alexander replies, sarcastic. Then, before Jefferson and his lackeys have a chance to get too comfortable: “And more importantly, while I can guarantee you that with my current plan I’m not going to have any trouble getting the charges against Mrs. Reynolds dismissed, if I go through with it there’s no way her husband won’t be released too. And he doesn’t deserve that, he deserves to rot in a cell for the rest of his miserable pathetic life.” He stops abruptly, forcing himself to rein in the flood of angry words that always threatens to break free when he thinks about James Reynolds. He clears his throat. “Just my opinion, of course.”

The others exchange another glance, but Alexander can’t quite decipher the meaning behind it this time. Mostly because before he even has a chance to fully take it in, Beckley turns to him once again and asks: “You’re fucking her, aren’t you? Sweet little Maria?”

“I’m not going to discuss it with you,” Alexander says, maybe a little too brusque. Fuck the day he decided to throw caution to the wind and bury his sorrows in Maria’s eager body.

For the record, this was all Laurens’ fault. Alexander is the first to recognize that sometimes he tends to blame his ex (if you can even call him that) for every bad thing that has happened to him in the last few months, but really, this is totally and undeniably his fault. He’s the one that broke Alexander’s heart just hours before Maria started throwing herself at him, and if it hadn’t been for him, Alexander is sure he could have mustered up the strength to turn her down. But no, he was upset, and she was upset, and they found that somehow they could forget about the hurt when they lay together so they did. And then they did it again. And again and again and honestly, Alexander is going to be in big, big trouble if anyone finds out so he’d better nip the rumor in the bud right now.

“I’d like you to remember that I’m a professional, though,” he tells Beckley. “And that I value my job and reputation more than a one-night stand with some girl.”

He can see the shame and anger in Beckley’s eyes at the jibe, but the guy is too decent to jump at his throat. Instead, he asks: “Why do you want her husband out of the picture so badly, then?”

This is it, the opening Alexander was looking for. _Show time._ “You claim that you slept with her, didn’t you?”

“What does this have…” Beckley starts, but then he thinks better of it. “Yeah. And I’m not just claiming it. You’ve seen the pictures, right?”

Alexander just gives him a curt nod. “So you’ve seen her naked.”

“I have.”

“Even with no make up on?”

“I’m sorry,” Jefferson interrupts them, dropping the fork and leaning back on his chair. “People are trying to eat here.”

“Truly. Can’t you save the gory details for the trial?” Madison echoes the sentiment.

Unbelievable. “We can step outside if you prefer,” Alexander suggests. As if he really thought Jefferson would let his client talk to the opposition without him present. Then, once again turning to Beckley: “Please. It’s important.”

He was counting on his reputation as a decent guy to be true, and he isn’t left disappointed. “No,” Beckley admits. “She’d take off her contacts, but never the cover-up mousse. And I didn’t want her to. I’m… not that _sick_.”

Alexander can’t help thinking back of that night with Laurens on the Brooklyn Bridge, when every single passerby made a point of calling him disgusting and his friend depraved. It hurts for a lot of reasons, but he decides not to focus on that now. He has work to do.

“You know why she did that?” he asks. “She didn’t want you to see her skin. Or more correctly, the bruises on it. Now who do you think gave her those bruises?”

“Okay, so her husband is abusive,” Jefferson cuts him off, placing the pieces together in no time. “It still doesn’t make her innocent. Hell, even if you somehow proved that he forced her into this blackmailing scheme of theirs it wouldn’t make her innocent. She’s a con, and she’s going to jail like she deserves.”

“See, this is where you’re wrong,” Alexander tells him, but he’s looking at Beckley again. “She’s not going to jail, she’s going to a place where she’ll be tortured. Have you been following the recent news over what really goes down in treatment centers?”

“Not really.”

Madison clears his throat. “I have. And if I remember correctly, you’re the one who started it all.”

Alexander blinks, unfazed. “I took Mrs Reynolds’ case months after publishing my first article on treatment centers, so if you’re suggesting I made the whole thing up just to try and feed you some sob story…”

“I’m not,” Madison says quickly. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You seem to have done your fair share of research on the subject, so if you say those places violate human rights I’m inclined to believe you.”

Jefferson turns to him like he’s been stabbed in the back, and Alexander has to repress a snigger. He almost makes it.

“Thank you,” he says in a rush, trying to cover it up, and he turns to Beckley once again. “So it’s up to you, really. If you want to try and send a woman to a worse punishment than the one a war criminal or a terrorist would get just because she allegedly tried to scam some money off you, be my guest. You’re going to fail, but you’ll have the satisfaction of causing her some anguish and of course of knowing you saddled her with her abusive piece of crap of a husband for years to come.” He pauses for a second, just the time to wet his lips, before suggesting: “Or you can make something good out of this mess. Get your revenge on Mr Reynolds, ‘cause god knows he deserves to go down for what happened to you, and let his wife walk free. Say you’re not so sure of her exact involvement anymore and you wouldn’t want her to go back to the nightmare that are treatment centers even if she were indeed guilty – which I’m pretty sure is how you really feel. I’ve talked to your family and colleagues, and they all told me you’re a good, generous person.”

This last comment goes straight over Beckley’s head. “So, not only are you asking me to forgive the woman who lied to and humiliated me just so you can win your case, you’re also trying to get some support for your crusade against treatment centers.”

“Yes,” Alexander admits. “But I’m only asking because I know it’s the right thing to do.”

“The woman is a criminal,” Jefferson argues. “Letting her off scot free, that’s not right either.”

“It is better than the alternative, though. I know, it would be all nice and tidy if there really was a clear, definite wrong and right, but that’s not the case. We’re talking about real people here, and their weird, messy lives – we can’t hope to make things right. So we should just try to do the best we can.”

Jefferson raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed by his cheesy speech. Not one of his best, Alexander will admit it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. And anyway he isn’t trying to win over Jefferson. He’s talking to Beckley here.

And it’s working. “So Mr. Reynolds would pay for the both of them?” Beckley checks. He doesn’t seem to mind the idea as much as his lawyer.

“You’re not really considering this, are you?” Jefferson turns to him, scandalized. “What that woman did to you was unacceptable. She needs to be put in her place – if not for your sake, for that of the countless men she’s conned before and the ones she is going to con in the future. Because I sincerely hope that you’re under no illusion that once she’s past this momentary scare, she’s going to keep taking advantage of people. I know the likes of her – using others, it’s not just an easy way to make money, it’s a drug. And it’s not like she has any other talents. She’s not going to stop until we make her.”

“She’s a model,” Alexander reminds them. “A pretty good one at that. And yeah, a PDS model doesn’t get paid as much as a living one, but I’m sure she can still make a decent living out of it if she doesn’t have her husband to worry about. As for your other concern… honestly, it doesn’t even deserve to be dignified with a reply. I figured you’re a sexist, but I thought you were smarter than trying to suggest that a woman that’s been victim of abuse since she was a little girl could enjoy putting herself at the mercy of strange men just to make a few bucks that she doesn’t really need.”

“What do you know, maybe she…” Jefferson starts, but Beckley interrupts him.

“That’s enough, thank you.” He looks straight at Alexander. “I will help her.”

“What? That’s ridiculous!”

“Thank you,” Alexander says. “You really are a good man.”

“I will help her,” Beckley repeats, slowly, “if she promises to leave New York and never come back.”

Alexander deflates, his excitement gone as quickly as it came. “Seriously? Why?”

“That woman very nearly destroyed my life,” Beckley reminds him. “I lost my family because of her. Almost lost my job too. She might not deserve to become a guinea pig for it – yes, I’ve read your articles on the subject –, but that doesn’t mean that I can stand the idea of her living right here in Manhattan. If I ran into her, I’m not sure of what I might do.”

“Come on, it’s a big city, I don’t think…”

“We work in the same industry. Trust me, I will see her, even if she changes agency.”

Alexander considers it quickly. He knows Beckley’s request is outrageous. He also knows it’s nothing, compared to what Maria is going to suffer if she stays. And if you ask him, the more miles she puts between herself and Jefferson, the better.

Problem is, he also happens to know that Maria has a daughter. A daughter she very much hopes to reconnect with, and possibly even raise by herself. How can she do that, if Beckley ships her off to god knows where?

There’s only one solution, really.

“I’ll talk to her,” Alexander sighs. “Let you know what she decides.”

 

“I don’t get it,” Philip observes. “If this room used to be a mess when Lafayette lived here, why do we have to get it all nice and clean for him? Wouldn’t he feel more at home if he found it all dirty and cobwebby and with all his stuff out of place?”

“Nice try,” Alexander sees right through him. He gets serious then, adds: “You don’t _have_ to help, you know. You can just go to the living room and watch TV, or read a book, whatever you like.”

Philip fixes a grave expression on him. “No, it’s okay. I want to do something nice for Lafayette.” He holds up one of Mulligan’s dirty shirts and curls his nose. “I just wish it wasn’t this.”

“Tell me about it. Your mom and Mulligan got all the fun, didn’t they? Going on a road trip to Albany while we’re stuck here cleaning up.”

“We need to go on a road trip one of these days,” Philip decides, out of the blue. “Just the two of us, so we can sing along to B.I.G. without Mom complaining about all the swear words.”

Alexander thinks about it and smiles. “I’d like that,” he says. “Problem is, I don’t own a car.”

“We can borrow mine. Mom’s,” he clarifies unnecessarily. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She’s always nagging me ‘cause I spend too much time doing my homework or watching TV instead of going out.”

“She’s right,” Alexander teases him. “You’re this close to turning into a textbook nerd.”

“So what? Laurens says nerds rule the world.”

“Of course he does, he’s the biggest nerd of them all.” He hesitates for a moment, pretending to focus on tucking one of the ends of the fitted sheet under Lafayette’s mattress, before asking: “You’re still in touch with him, then?”

Philip nods. “He calls me every week – mostly just to talk about The Flash. He’s got all the best theories.”

“Nerds.” Alexander wants to dig deeper, find out if Laurens ever mentions him, if he sounded any different these last three days, any sadder, but he knows it’s best if he lets it go. “Well then, it’s a plan. Where would you like to go on our road trip? Orlando?” he jokes.

“What’s in Orlando?”

“You know, Disneyland.”

“Oh.” Philip really thinks about it, as if they could even consider dropping everything and traveling for two days straight to an overpriced, overcrowded theme park. In the end, though, he points out: “Don’t know if it’s the best idea. It’s going to be full of people. You know, living people.” He brightens up with an idea, then – sudden, and so engrossing that everything else loses importance for a moment. Alexander knows the feeling. “Ooh, you know what? We should have our own Disneyland. Just for PDS people, I mean. I already know what place we can use. Have you ever heard of Green-Wood?”

“The cemetery?” Alexander asks, perplexed. “Isn’t that a little morbid?”

“It’s appropriate,” Philip argues, that little pout he always makes when people disappoint him by not going along with his brilliant ideas already starting to appear. “And it’s so pretty. You ever been?”

“I’m just saying,” Alexander insists. “The living get the cotton candy and rollercoasters, and we the tombs? Doesn’t sound fair. So if they’re the only reason you don’t want to go to Disneyland, we should do it. We can’t let the living decide where we’re allowed to have fun.”

“Well. Also, you know, rollercoasters make me queasy, and I don’t like people in costumes,” Philip admits.

“Really? Why not?”

“Mom says when I was a little kid we were in Times Square and this guy in a SpongeBob costume started following me around. She thinks it’s all his fault that I’m traumatized now. I don’t really remember that, all I know is that costumes freak me out.”

“I bet,” Alexander says, and can’t help huffing in amusement.

Philip doesn’t appreciate it one bit. “Hey, when you’ve battled a rogue SpongeBob and lived, you can come make fun of me.”

“Fair enough,” Alexander concedes, sitting on Mulligan’s bed. He figures they can take a little break from housekeeping. “Florida’s off the table, then, and we can totally go to Green-Wood, but it’d hardly make for a good roadtrip destination. So… any other suggestions?”

“I know,” Philip answers quickly, and Alexander suspects he’d decided all along. “We could go to Charleston. See Laurens?”

It’s just Alexander’s luck that Philip had to be friends with his ex. Though come to think of it, _he’s_ the one that made it happen. Alexander Hamilton, ladies and gentlemen – master of self-sabotage and generally bad decisions.

“I don’t know, Philip.”

“Come on! I’ll let you kiss him. You just have to tell me first so I can look the other way,” he quips, and it would be cute if it weren’t so damn depressing.

“I don’t think Laurens would like that.”

The kid’s forehead crinkles in a worried frown. “Why, are you guys in a fight or something?”

“No, not really,” Alexander reassures him, and it’s the truth. Even though it doesn’t feel like it. “But trust me, it’s better for Laurens if we leave him alone. Let him do his thing, you know. He’ll come see us when he’s ready.”

“And when is that?”

Alexander shrugs. “I don’t think even Laurens knows.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah, you can say that,” Alexander agrees. Then he shakes himself. He’ll be damned if he lets his maudlin feelings over Laurens ruin this day for him and Philip. “And you know, Laurens is with his family. I’m sure he misses being here, but he must be pretty happy there too. The important thing was to get Lafayette back, and we did it.”

The kid brightens up again at the mention of Lafayette. “You’re right.” He looks around the room, as orderly as it’s ever been – all it needs now is a good clean. “You think this is enough, by the way?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Should we throw him a party or something?”

“Oh.” Alexander hadn’t even considered it. “Maybe in a few days? I’d like to see how he’s doing first.”

“Why, you don’t think he’s going to be happy to be back?” Philip asks, confused.

“What? No, of course he’s going to be happy!” Alexander reassures him. “But the place he was in… How much do you know about it?”

“A lot,“ the boy replies with his usual confidence. Never doubt Philip’s knowledge. God, he’s _such_ a nerd. “I used to be in there too, you know. Same treatment center as Lafayette. And I’ve read about it – not your article because Mom won’t let me and I couldn’t find it on my own, but other stuff. Comments online, mostly. People started talking about them a lot after Lafayette was taken away.”

“Yeah, you could say we’ve brought some attention to the subject.” Alexander hesitates then, choosing his words carefully. “You know Lafayette has been through some terrible stuff in the treatment center, then. And sometimes when people have such traumatic experiences, even if they survive them and get to go on with their lives… it’s not the same as before. They’re not okay just because they’re home.”

Philip nods knowingly. “Oh. Yes. You mean like when soldiers come back from a war and still have nightmares and stuff?”

“Exactly like that.”

“And it happened to Lafayette too?”

“I can’t say for sure, I haven’t even seen him, but it’s likely.”

There’s a long, dreadful pause before Philip says, way too grave for a kid his age: “You know, Alexander, I was in a good mood before coming here.”

Alexander laughs in spite of it all. “I’m sorry.” He jumps back to his feet. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I finish up here while you take my laptop and find us a good destination for our road trip?”

The boy brightens up again. “On it.” He pauses on the way out, looking back at Alexander sheepishly. “We’re really going, right? You’re not just saying this?”

“We are,” Alexander confirms. Then he amends: “If your mom’s okay with it, of course.”

“Of course.”

He finishes cleaning in less than ten minutes – having tiny tiny rooms has its advantages. There’s nothing for him and Philip to do, then, but wait for the others to come back. Alexander is grateful he has the kid to look after – he’d go mad with worry if he were to go through it alone. Not that Philip can know, of course.

Philip looks engrossed in his research, though, and Alexander decides to make good use of the time he has and call Maria to discuss Beckley’s offer.

It goes about as well as he’d hoped.

“No,” she says. “I’m sorry, but no way. He’s not kicking me out of my city.”

Alexander sighs. “Please don’t rush into a decision.”

“I want to see my kid, Alexander,” Maria reminds him. As if he had forgotten about it. “Kinda hard if I’m living on the other side of the Atlantic, isn’t it?”

“Harder if you’re locked up,” Alexander counters. “Trust me.”

“Are you so sure of that? From what you told me, they don’t keep you in forever. Sooner or later you’re released.”

“Or killed. That’s what happens in most cases. 72% of the times, if I remember correctly?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and for a moment Alexander thinks she’s finally, _finally_ going to listen to him.

“Well,” Maria says. “I’ve died before. It’s not as terrible as they make it out to be.”

“ _Maria_ ,” Alexander pleads. It’s her life. Her freedom. Possibly her sanity too. Why can’t she be serious about it?

“Alexander,” she shoots back. She doesn’t sound mocking, though. Nor like she’s joking. “You’ve done so much for me.”

Oh hell no. He has a feeling he knows where this is headed, and he’d much rather go back to Maria not taking him seriously.

“Really. You’ve been a great lawyer and a friend. You’ve done all I could ask for, and more.”

“Maria, stop, you’re…”

“But you can’t always win. And this one, this was a lost cause from the beginning and it’s just been getting worse. So thank you, really, but maybe it’s time you stop wasting your energy on me and go help someone who actually has a chance.”

Well. This is even worse than Alexander thought. “Are you firing me?” he asks, appalled.

Maria thinks about it for a long, painful moment. “You’re welcome to represent me at the trial,” she finally offers. “But no more deals, okay? They win. I give up.”

“Don’t. Don’t let them do that,” Alexander urges, his mind working fast with fear and despair. “We don’t have to make any more deals, but let me keep working on it. I’ll come up with something, I promise. I promised you.”

“It’s fine, Alexander.”

“It’s not! I promised you I’d help you.”

“You have,” Maria reminds him. “You’ve worked for me for a month for free. You’ve done everything you could.”

“So what? It was pointless. It wasn’t enough,” Alexander bursts out. God, he hates this. He hates people like Maria and Burr and Laurens, that get tired and give up long before the race is over. That’s just childish, and cowardly. Alexander has always fought ’til the very last second.

“No, it wasn’t,” Maria agrees. “It’s not like it’s your fault, though.”

“I know, but if you just give me a little more time I could…”

He doesn’t know what he was going to say, really, and it turns out it doesn’t matter, because Maria cuts him off. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m trying to get some time with my daughter before the trial.”

She’s silent for a moment and Alexander can almost picture her on the other end, biting her lip to rein in the sob she so desperately needs to let out. He’s mad at her, madder than he was when she refused to put all the blame on Reynolds, madder than when he found out she’d lied to get his help. He can’t help admiring her, though. Her quiet strength and her devotion to a daughter she’ll never get to see grow up.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” Maria finally lets out, her voice only a little shaky.

“Yes,” Alexander gives in. “Good luck.”

He ends the call, or maybe she does, and Alexander’s phone informs him he has two missed calls from Mulligan. And a message. CALL ME.

There’s screaming in the background when Mulligan picks up.

“Finally,” he grumbles. “Am I on speakers?”

“No, Philip’s in the other room,” Alexander reassures him. “What’s going on?”

“Listen, we’ll be back in 10, and Philip can’t be there when we do.”

“What? Why?”

Mulligan lowers his voice. “Laf isn’t doing well. It’s better if Philip doesn’t see him like this.”

Alexander’s heart sinks. He was prepared for this, of course, but he really, really wasn’t. He forces himself not to ask any questions and focus on Philip. “Right. Okay. I’ll take him home, then.”

“Yeah. Eliza’s coming right after we get Laf settled.” A beat. “Move fast, Hamilton.”

He does. He makes all the cleaning products disappear and shouts at Philip to put on his shoes, they’re leaving the house.

Predictably, the kid doesn’t comply without demanding an explanation first.

“Your mom just called,” Alexander tells him. “She can’t remember if she turned off the gas when she left this morning. We need to go check before something happens.”

“Of course she checked it, she always does,” Philip dismisses his fake concern, his attention going back to Alexander’s laptop.

Alexander steps closer to him and closes the computer.

“Hey!” the kid protests.

He won’t have it. “We need to go. She was really worried.”

Philip stares at him for a long moment, defiance and trust battling on his face, until finally he caves. “Fine,” he says, standing up. “I’m telling you though, it’s going to be a waste of time.”

“Possibly, but we can’t have your mom worry all the way back from Albany, can we?” Alexander insists. “Besides, we’re done here. And if we have to wait, we might as well do it in your house, with proper wi-fi and your mom’s snacks.”

“You know it’s going to take us almost an hour to get there, right?” Philip asks. He’s tying his shoelaces, though, so Alexander considers the discussion won.

“Better to leave now, then,” he replies, and practically pushes the kid out of the apartment.


	31. In which Alexander talks to an old friend

In spite of what Mulligan said, by the time Eliza comes back to her apartment it’s dark outside and Philip is already sleeping soundly in his bed. Alexander would tease her about forgetting about the two of them to run off with Mulligan if she didn’t look so tired.

“Everything alright?” he asks instead after they hug and she thanks him for staying with the kid all day.

Eliza hesitates before answering – not looking for the words to sugarcoat it, just considering his question. “Yes,” she decides in the end. “It’s not _good_ , though. You should go help Mulligan as soon as you can.”

“Sure,” Alexander says, already walking to the door. His curiosity gets the better of him then, and he stops. “What happened?”

She shakes her head, still visibly upset. “He was asleep when we came to get him. It’s standard procedure, apparently – they drug all “dangerous PDS sufferers” for the trip home. For safety reasons, you know. But they must have messed up the dosage, because he woke up too soon and he was completely disoriented. He started screaming, thrashing around. He ended up hurting Mulligan.”

“God.” Alexander feels his heart sink. He looks Eliza up and down and is relieved to find no signs of injury. “How badly?”

“Not much, just a few bruises and scratches. But it was horrible. I never thought our Lafayette would be capable of…”

“It’s not his fault,” Alexander interrupts her. “That wasn’t him.”

“But it was, Alexander. It is,” Eliza insists. “He might have been the last person in the world to deserve it, but those horrible things, they’ve done them to him. And because of that, the version of him we used to know doesn’t exist anymore. This is Lafayette now, the one who’s hurt and afraid and lashes out.”

“I know,” Alexander agrees with a sigh. He forces himself not to think about it, to save all the desperation and futile screaming for later. Right now, he needs to stay focused. And be prepared. “How were things when you left to come here?”

“A little better. Laurens told us how to tweak his medication and he calmed down. Fell asleep in just a couple of minutes.”

“Laurens?”

“We called him” is Eliza’s only explanation.

Alexander gets it, but he can’t help being worried. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“What, calling Laurens?” she asks, perplexed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, I know he likes to mess around with this stuff, but he isn’t a proper doctor yet, is he? Maybe he should think twice before going around telling people what to put in their bodies.”

“It was an emergency,” Eliza points out. If Alexander didn’t know better, he’d say she looks a little peeved. “Of course Lafayette is going to get a proper physical soon. And Laurens isn’t just any other med student, he used to work at a treatment center.”

“Yeah, as a newbie volunteer who couldn’t even bring water to the patients without a nurse watching over him.”

Eliza sighs, done. “Look, I’m really, really tired. I know you and Laurens haven’t been in the best of terms lately and I’m here for you if you need someone to confide in, but talking behind people’s backs is not my thing. I don’t need it right now.”

“This is not about Laurens,” Alexander protests. “I’m worried about Laf.”

“Go see him, then,” Eliza tells him. “If he’s woken up, he must be asking after you. But make sure you leave all this negativity outside, because he and Mulligan need a friend right now, not a completely uncalled for scolding.”

“I didn’t…” Alexander starts, and stops. Eliza is right, ever since she showed up he’s been handling this all wrong. Why can’t Philip be around all the time? Alexander seems to be able to keep it together just fine in front of him. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Get some rest, I’ll go see if Mulligan needs help.”

Eliza smiles at him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for taking care of Philip today,” she says for the twentieth time.

“Thank you for taking care of Lafayette,” Alexander shoots back. “And me,” he adds at the last moment.

He doesn’t pause to check her reaction, but she doesn’t stop him either so he assumes she understands what he meant.

Mulligan is awake when Alexander steps into the apartment, even though he could fool a lot of people lying on the couch with his eyes to the ceiling like that. He immediately sits up when he hears Alexander come in.

“Hams, finally!”

“Is he still asleep?” Alexander asks, nodding in the direction of Lafayette and Mulligan’s room.

Mulligan hums an affirmation. “Dunno how long he’s gonna be out. Or what he’s going to be like when he wakes up.” He looks away, not wanting Alexander to see the hurt and fear in his eyes. “So did Eliza put you up to speed with what happened?”

“More or less,” Alexander confirms, taking a seat next to his friend. “Did the doctors tell you anything?”

“Just to be careful ‘cause he’s dangerous. We thought it was a lot of crap, of course.”

Alexander sags against the back cushion, whispers: “What the _fuck_ have they done to him?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Mulligan answers it anyway. “All that sick shit you wrote about, I’m guessing.” His voice breaks, and only then does Alexander notice the marks on his face. There’s no blood, which is probably why Alexander didn’t see them sooner, but Mulligan’s skin is cracked on his right eyebrow and cheek and under his left ear. Lafayette must have been clawing at him with all his strength. “You’re lucky you missed it, man. It was goddamn awful. Sudden, you know, like when one doesn’t get his meds and goes rabid, but so much worse for some reason.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine seeing Laf wanting to hurt somebody out of the blue.”

“It’s not that,” Mulligan muses. His voice sounds weird, even deeper than usual. Alexander thinks if he were still alive, he’d probably be crying at this point. “I think… I think it’s because rabids don’t really look like they _feel_ anything, you know? Except maybe hunger. That’s why it was so easy for people in the War to kill them – they’d died before, and there was nothing human in their faces anymore. No fear or doubt or sadness. Just hunger.”

“That’s how it felt, too,” Alexander reminds him.

“Yeah.” Mulligan stays silent for a while, lost in thought. Maybe he’s remembering about those times. Eventually, though, he shakes himself. “It wasn’t like that with Laf. He was the same he’s always been, except he was _terrified_. He wanted to get out of the car, would have jumped straight into traffic if I hadn’t restrained him.”

Alexander can picture it all too well, Lafayette waking up in the unfamiliar confinement of Eliza’s car and losing it. He’s mad at himself for not being there to help, while at the same time being grateful Eliza and Mulligan had the foresight to tell him to get the Philip the hell away from the apartment. The kid was so happy about their victory, it would have broken his heart if when he finally saw Lafayette again he’d be doing that bad.

“And I tried to reassure him,“ Mulligan carries on. “I tried talking to him, holding him down, but nothing worked. He just got more and more afraid, shaking and crying, until I thought he was going to die like that. Like some little bird with a heart attack.”

Alexander puts an arm around his shoulder. “You were incredible,” he tells him. “Both you and Eliza. You got him here and you’re all in one piece, and that’s fucking incredible.”

“Yeah, and what use is it if Laf is still suffering?” Mulligan asks.

“We knew this wouldn’t be easy,” Alexander reminds him, and it hurts, it hurts like hell to think about it but he has to be strong, for Laf and Mulligan and everyone else. “That there could be consequences. But at least he’s home now. He’s with us. He can only get better.”

Mulligan shakes his head, and he’s as hopeless as Alexander has ever seen him. “I don’t think at this point it makes much of a difference where he is. You should have heard what he said in the car – he doesn’t trust us anymore. Barely even recognizes us. He told me he hates me, that he was going to kill me.”

“You said it yourself, he was scared out of his mind,” Alexander insists, trying his hardest to ignore the little voice in his head whispering that Mulligan could be right. He was there, after all, and Alexander wasn’t. He can only imagine how bad the situation really was. How bad it still is.

“What if he meant it, though?” Mulligan asks, and his voice is shaking, but Alexander couldn’t say if it’s with pain or fear or both. “We were fighting when he was taken. I was pissed at him, wouldn’t even listen to his reasons. What if that’s how he remembered me at the treatment center? What if it’s the only way he remembers me now?”

“Okay, stop it,” Alexander says. Shit, Mulls, way to freak everybody out. “One, that’s insane, Lafayette loves you to pieces and he’d never hold anything so trivial against you. Trust me. He even forgave _me_ before he was captured, and I was the one who’d started the whole mess. He’s too cool to hold grudges.”

Mulligan only mumbles something unintelligible in response, but he does seem to relax, if only just a little.

“And two,” Alexander carries on, “we’re not going to accomplish anything sitting here worrying about what he thinks of us. We’re all the family he has here and we’re going to help him, even if he were to leave and tell us to never talk to him again the second he gets better.”

“Right,” Mulligan agrees. “I was thinking of talking to a therapist.”

“For Lafayette?”

“No – well, that too, if he’s up to it. But I wanted some advice for myself. For knowing how to act, you know.”

Alexander nods. “Good plan. You have anyone in mind?”

“No, but Laurens says he knows a couple – some guy who treated veterans that got PTSD after the Undead War and one who studied…”

Mulligan’s voice dies in his throat when the door to his room is slammed open and Lafayette stumbles into the living room wearing only a pair of boxers and a wild look in his eyes. He doesn’t look okay, he barely even resembles his old self, yet it takes all of Alexander’s willpower not to run to him and throw his arms around him saying, _Thank god you’re back, thank god, I missed you so much_.

Mulligan is the first to overcome the shock and jump to his feet, keeping a non-threatening distance from Lafayette while effectively making it harder for him to run out the door and wreak havoc in the streets. ‘cause that’s where it looks Lafayette is headed.

“Laf,” Mulligan says, voice calm but firm, “what’s going on?”

“I need to get out of here,” Lafayette replies. His eyes are unfocused, his voice on the verge of hysteria. “I can’t breathe. I need to get out.” He heads for the door, but Mulligan stops him.

“Wait – I’ll come with you,” he decides. “Why don’t you put on some clothes first, though?”

His soothing, reasonable tone doesn’t seem to help. Lafayette just starts shaking his head. “No. No, no, I need to get out _now_.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t fucking _breathe_!” Lafayette shouts, desperate, and tries to push Mulligan out of the way – with little success, to Alexander’s relief. Mulligan is stronger than him, especially now, and he was expecting the blow so he doesn’t even flinch when Lafayette comes at him with all the frantic strength of a caged animal. He stands there, sturdy as an oak, and holds his friend without a trace of fear or resentment.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t need to breathe, remember? You can take your time.”

Lafayette keeps shaking his head, though. “I can’t. I can’t stay here, this place is smothering me.” He pulls out of Mulligan’s grasp, and Mulligan lets him, but he still doesn’t move away from the door. “Why are you doing this to me?!” Lafayette bursts out again. “I thought you were my friend, that you’d come to help me, but you’re just one of them. No! Don’t touch me. I’m going to kill you, I swear.”

“Laf…”

“Let me go!”

Alexander can’t take it anymore. At the risk of making everything worse, he takes a step in the direction of his friends.

Lafayette whips his head back at the first sound of movement, and for the first time since he stepped into the living room his eyes color with a soft tint of recognition at the sight of Alexander. “Hamilton?” he asks, uncertain.

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s me. I’m here.”

“Are you going to save me?” Lafayette asks, with such trust and hope and gratitude that Alexander feels his chest tighten painfully.

“You’re already saved,” he tells him. “You’re with me and Mulligan. You’re home.”

Lafayette looks around, and for a moment Alexander can almost believe he’s going to recognize the place and Mulligan and everything will be fine. Then Lafayette turns back to him, and the distress in his eye is so deep that Alexander could drown in it.

“It doesn’t feel like home,” Lafayette says honestly. He looks like he’s on the verge of panicking again.

“I know,” Alexander agrees. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” There it is again, that wild, out of control light in his eyes. Dammit, Alexander had a chance to get through to him and he wasted it. “I need to get out of here.”

“Let’s go to the roof,” Mulligan suggests. “Plenty of air there, right? And we can bring something to drink and stay up talking all night, if you want. Just like…” His voice breaks, but he carries on. “Just like old times.” Lafayette is looking at him, silent for once. Pensive, even. “What do you say?”

For the longest time, Lafayette doesn’t say anything, he just stands there looking at Mulligan. Alexander hadn’t noticed it before, but there’s something strange in the way he holds himself, like he’s pending a little too much to the right. Especially with his head, that’s all tilted to one side, There’s a twitch in his right hand, too. Alexander can’t help wondering whether it’s the result of some experiment they did on him or just of the trauma he went through. Either way, it makes him want to go back to the Albany treatment center and set it on fire. The heartless drones that work there deserve it, and as for the prisoners (because there’s no way he’s going to keep pretending they’re patients), at least they’d stop suffering.

“Yes,” Lafayette’s voice eventually says, interrupting Alexander’s vengeful daydreaming. “Okay. I think I’d like that.”

For the first time tonight, there is nothing forced or sad in Mulligan’s smile.

The air is chilly on top of the roof, and it carries the scent of spring and the night and the city. It makes Alexander think they’re going to make it somehow. That the three of them being here together right now is going to be enough.

It seems to help Lafayette too. The moment he’s not confined between walls and the suffocating ceiling, he visibly relaxes, breathing in deep and looking over the city.

“I’m really home, aren’t I?” he asks, and he starts sobbing without tears. Mulligan goes to him and puts an arm around his shoulder, careful, making sure he leaves him all the room to move away if he wants to. Lafayette buries his head in his chest and holds to him as tight as he can.

They open the first bottle short after Lafayette is done crying. Still the cheap stuff – Alexander has been trying to upgrade their liquor cabinet since Maria started coming around more, but he’s feeling nostalgic tonight. They can be fancy later, right now they’re going to toast like the broke underdogs they used to be when they met.

“ _Now_ it feels like old times,” Alexander declares after they all take the first sip.

“Yeah, all we need is you and Laurens making googly eyes at each other and we’ll be back to the golden age of 3B,” Mulligan agrees.

Alexander is too busy feeling the same way to complain about Mulligan’s teasing. Besides, he isn’t even sure it’s really teasing. He’s pretty sure at this point they all miss Laurens so much that Mulligan would even put up with him and Alexander being obnoxiously into each other and making innuendos right in front of him and making out all over the “common spaces” if it meant having him back.

“You didn’t get back together after your fight at the Archive, then?” Lafayette asks.

Alexander would rather talk about literally anything else, but he can’t miss how much like his old self Lafayette sounded when he asked him the question. It’s doing him good, talking about stuff, and if rehashing these last months of catastrophic personal decisions is what Alexander can do to help him, you can bet he’s going to suck it up and pour his heart out.

“We did, actually,” Alexander tells him. “Well, we were never together officially, but I guess you could say we were seeing each other. And then he moved and…”

“Moved?” Lafayette interrupts him, suddenly alert. “Are you telling me Laurens doesn’t live here anymore?”

Mulligan throws Alexander a Look. Which is unfair if you ask him, he was the one to bring up Laurens in the first place. And anyway it’s not like they can keep it from Laf forever, can they? He’s going to notice sooner or later. And hopefully Laurens will call him and explain everything himself. Shit, yes, they should have waited for Laurens to call. It would have spared them the sight of Lafayette looking so lost and betrayed at their words.

“He… moved back home,” Mulligan confesses.

“Home? Why? He hates it there!”

“I don’t know, he seems to like his family alright. More than he let on when he was here, at least,” Alexander says, both an attempt at reassuring Lafayette and at steering the conversation away from the reason Laurens went back. He has a feeling Lafayette won’t be too happy to hear it.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. “Even so. Why would he do something like that?” Lafayette insists.

Alexander and Mulligan exchange a glance. God knows they want to spare Lafayette the guilt, but he’s going to find out sooner or later, isn’t he? And he’s been manipulated by creepy doctors for months, the last thing he needs is for his friends to lie to him too.

“To get you out of the treatment center,” Mulligan reveals. “He thought he’d be more helpful if he got back in his father’s good graces. And he was. He did so much to get you here.”

Lafayette is shaking his head again, in denial this time. “No. No no no no, you can’t tell me he sacrificed his happiness and his future for me. I can’t… I can’t believe it. Why would he even…”

“It isn’t that bad,” Alexander tries to comfort him. “Really. It gave him a reason to make up with his parents, and he’s still going to go back to King’s College at some point. Only thing he sacrificed was living with us – and honestly, I don’t think you’re the only reason he did that.”

“So he is coming back to New York, yes?” Lafayette asks, starting to calm down.

“Yes, of course,” Alexander replies quickly, as the same time as Mulligan says: “Possibly. Or he’s going to find a med school closer to his hometown and finish there – either way, he still gets to study what he always wanted to.”

That comes as a shock to Alexander. Laurens was supposed to go back to King’s College. That was always the plan. He promised when he first told Alexander he was leaving, and he said it again and again when he was away and Alexander was pestering him about coming back. He might even have mentioned something about it the last time they talked, so when and why did he change his mind?

Angelica would tell him he’s being paranoid and self-centered as usual, but Alexander can’t help thinking it’s because of him. Laurens can’t even bear to be in the same _city_ as him anymore. He’s giving up his old life and his best friends just so he can be absolutely sure he’ll never see Alexander again.

He’s spiraling, he knows it, and he isn’t the only one.

“But that’s not the way he wanted it,” Lafayette protests. “He wanted to be here, he wanted to be as independent as possible. And he gave that up for _me_. The last person to deserve anything.”

The raw pain in his friend’s voice is enough to tear Alexander away from the pity party he was throwing for himself.

“What are you talking about? None of that was your fault. It’s not like you let them capture you on purpose, right?” Alexander tries to reason with him. “And we all decided to get our revenge on those pulsist punks together. So if you’re looking for someone to blame, blame all of us, and especially Laurens and me.”

“You don’t get it. I’ve hurt so many people.” Lafayette’s eyes go distant, but his voice stays real, shaking with shame and distress. “People I loved. People I didn’t even know. I ripped them apart. Ate them.”

“We all did,” Mulligan reminds him. “We had no other choice.”

“Didn’t we?” Lafayette challenges him. “Nobody forced us to feed. To kill. We could have chosen not to.”

“We would have died.”

“So? We were already dead. Our time was long up. What gave us the right to take real, innocent lives just to make ours a little longer? I mean, would you want to stay alive now if it meant killing every day?”

“No,” Mulligan admits. “But it was different then. There wasn’t right or wrong – only instinct. We couldn’t have acted different if we wanted to.”

“Yes, we could have,” Lafayette insists. “I’ve heard of them, rabids that wouldn’t hurt anyone. They fed on animals instead. It was possible, all we needed to do was want it.”

“It’s a lie, Laf. Some good tale they spun at the treatment center to make you feel guilty and mess with your head.” He turns to Alexander for support. “Am I right?”

_Of course_ , Alexander wants to say. _You can’t trust anything you saw or heard in that place. They were torturing you._

Then he thinks of Philip’s flashbacks about his father. How he used to hunt for him, bring him small animals to keep the all-consuming hunger at bay. How he only hurt the people that found them because he thought they wanted to harm his kid. Maybe some people really are better than others.

“It’s complicated,” Alexander says. “I do know of some rabids that wouldn’t attack people, but they’re a minority. They’re the special ones – that doesn’t make us the bad ones.”

Lafayette shakes his head. “We can’t keep thinking like that,” he warns. “We’re just making excuses for ourselves. And as long as we do, we can’t make up for all the bad things we’ve done.”

“We can’t make up for it anyway,” Mulligan points out. “They’re gone.”

“And isn’t that fucking unfair?”

“That they had to die?” Alexander asks. “Yes. But that we’re here now and they’re not? That’s just life. And trust me, there’s a lot of people that would deserve to go before us.”

“ _We_ killed them, Hams,” Lafayette insists. “I’m not talking about fate or karma or the divine plan. I’m talking about what _we_ have done, and how we can live with that. Because I don’t think I can anymore.” He throws himself back so that he’s lying half-naked on the roof, face to the sky, and closes his eyes. “You should have left me in there. I deserved all that.”

“Nobody deserves that. Especially not you,” Mulligan says, barely more than a whisper, and lies back next to him. “They brainwashed you into believing it, but we’re going to make you un-believe it, alright? You’re too awesome for that self-loathing crap.”

“Besides,” Alexander joins in, “what’s done is done. You can feel guilty about it, and you can look for a way to make amends if you like, but torturing yourself – or letting the living literally torture you – it’s not going to make things right. Your suffering isn’t going to ease anyone else’s, trust me.”

“I don’t know, I myself would feel a lot better if something happened to those so-called doctors at the treatment center,” Mulligan muses, and he’s only half-joking.

Lafayette is thinking about something else, though. “Maybe I should do it,” he says, and while it isn’t phrased like a question, it sounds a lot like one. “Look for a way to make amends.”

“I know of some people getting in touch with the families that had lost someone because of them,” Alexander offers. “I don’t know if I recommend it, though. As you might have gathered, making us feel better isn’t exactly the living’s priority.”

“It’s not about feeling better, it’s about taking responsibility for my actions.”

“What about Eliza’s group?” Mulligan asks. “You did good work there. And at least you’d have her to watch your back if someone tries to vent their anger on you.”

“Yeah,” Lafayette says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“And Eliza says they miss you there.”

“Did you get their letters, by the way?” Alexander wonders. He’s afraid he knows the answer, but even if he’s right, at least this way Lafayette will know there were letters in the first place. That his loved ones didn’t forget all about him when he was locked up.

Predictably, Lafayette shakes his head. “The only letters I got were from my family. And even those were edited.”

“God, your family!” Alexander can’t believe he forgot about them. He’s so used to thinking of Lafayette and Mulligan and Laurens and himself as a family that it keeps slipping his mind that the others have actual families out there. “Do they know you’re out?”

Lafayette looks uncertain. “I don’t know, they…”

“I sent them an email on the way here,” Mulligan supplies. Of course he took care of it. “Told them you were asleep, but would call them when you woke up.”

“Thank you,” Lafayette says, throwing Mulligan an affectionate glance. “What time is it?”

“Almost half past ten,” Alexander supplies.

“4 AM in France, then.” Lafayette makes a face. “Better if I wait until tomorrow, huh?”

Mulligan smiles at the natural way he asks it. “Definitely.”

They lie in silence after that, and eventually Alexander joins them. The stars are impossible to see, hidden by the lights of the city, but the sky stretches before them, deep and dark and clear, and it’s a beautiful sight. Peaceful, too. They could all fall asleep there, lulled by the sound of cars down in the street and each other’s soothing breathing. Lafayette would probably like that.

“I missed this,” he murmurs after a while. “The sky and you guys.”

“We missed you too. A lot,” Alexander says, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. Welcome back, man.”


	32. In which Alexander loses and wins

The Maria and James Reynolds trial is held at the end of April, about one month after Alexander took the case. If you asked him, he’d say he’s been working it for the last five years. And yeah, it’s been a pain in the ass, but it’s also been a welcome distraction from the helplessness he felt when Lafayette was captured, when Mulligan grew distant, when Laurens left him for good. No matter if they win or lose, things are going to feel much different without it.

Not that Alexander doubts his bosses’ ability to find something just as taxing for him to occupy his mind with.

Per her request, he meets Maria at a small coffee shop before the trial. It’s not exactly Laurens’ coffee, or Angelica’s for that matter, but it’s close to the courthouse and PDS-friendly so it’s good enough for them. Besides, Alexander refuses to believe this is their last coffee together – they have all the time in the world to make up for it.

Maria’s outfit is a little more sober than usual, faded colors and no heels. As if she were mourning her freedom already. It drives Alexander crazy that she’d give up like this, and it’s probably the reason why they haven’t seen much of each other in the last few days. That, and Alexander has had his hands full with Lafayette and trying to find an alternate strategy after Maria shot down all the others.

“You look good,” she greets after showing up late – something Alexander has come to expect of her – and taking the seat in front of him.

“You too,” he says, because it’s true. “Not that it’s anything new.”

Maria smiles, flattered. “Thank you. I’m making an effort to look like a human being as long as I can – I doubt they’re providing make-up and my designer of choice when I’m a lab rat in a treatment center.”

Alexander thinks of Lafayette, of the messy hair and unkept beard he sported his first day back from the treatment center, and his heart clenches. He knows it’s far from being the worse kind of torture non-compliants have to suffer through, but not allowing people to take care of themselves, of the way they look, is yet another step towards dehumanizing them. And Maria has been put through enough shit by her husband, she doesn’t deserve to end her existence like that.

“Thank god you’re not going to become one, then,” he promises.

She smiles again, but this time it’s in a fond, slightly patronizing way. “So you keep saying. But in case I am… I wanted to thank you, Alexander. And I wanted to ask you one more favor, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“My daughter, Susie… She goes to the school where your friend Eliza teaches,” Maria reveals, pulling a small pink envelope out of her purse. “Do you think you could you get this letter to her? I want her to hear what happened from me, not my aunt. And to know she can write to me at the treatment center, even though I won’t always receive her letters.”

“Of course,” Alexander accepts readily. He takes the envelope and puts it into the pocket of his jacket. “Are you allowed contact with her, or should we keep it on the down low?”

“Oh, you know me so well.” Maria winks. She takes a sip of her coffee before answering, serious this time: “Writing is fine, legally speaking, but my aunt and uncle aren’t too fond of the idea, so…”

“Down low it is,” Alexander finishes for her. “I’ll tell my inside man to be careful, then.”

Maria nods, gratitude and adoration shining in her eyes. Maybe Laurens was right, maybe Alexander is a little addicted to it.

“I’m so lucky I met you, Alexander.”

“You can say that after I win this trial for you.”

 

Alexander will only admit this once – Jefferson is brilliant. More than that, he was born to be a lawyer. The way he moves and speaks in court is too outstanding to be anything but the product of hard work and calculation, yet it looks effortless coming from him. Natural. It makes you want to believe everything he says.

As for the actual content of his opening statement, it’s flawed, but good enough for the jury to drink it up like bad alcohol at happy hour. And it’s kind of impressive how he can fit everything into it (really, everything, from Beckley’s touching, unblemished life story to Maria and James’ crimes, without giving up on an excursus on the virtues and faults of men, a few not-so-veiled insinuations about Alexander’s condition and character, and one too many reference to some book he wrote recently that has nothing to do with the case but he keeps bringing up one way or another) and still make it sound interesting and cohesive. He’s better than Alexander, who can’t help getting too invested and emotional, better even than Burr, whose charm and good sense are an easy mask to peek through. Yeah, he might be a pulsist and a sexist, but does it matter if he makes it sound so logic, so righteous?

Alexander meets Maria’s eyes as Jefferson is going on and on, and she smiles at him, a forced, resigned little thing. Whatever hope she might have had left was wiped away by Jefferson’s words. It’s starting to hit her, she’s really going back to the treatment center, and it terrifies her.

Alexander raises his eyebrows at her, a silent question, but she shakes her head. The original plan is still a no go, then. That’s okay. He can still win this.

His rebuttal isn’t Alexander’s best work. He argues that as a man in a position of power, Beckley could be seen as taking advantage of Maria and not the other way round, that they only have James Reynolds’ word for all her other alleged crimes and he’s a self-serving drunken con, that if the world can brush off Beckley’s exploitation of Maria as a moment of weakness they could try to show the same compassion to Maria, who was caught between a rock and a hard place, in spite of the fact that she’s PDS and a woman. This last remark doesn’t win him any points with the jury – _of course_ the PDS lawyer would bring up PDS discrimination, and nobody likes to be labeled a sexist. Especially not women. Jefferson looks smug, then disappointed. He probably expected a more exciting fight.

The witness interrogation doesn’t help their case much, either. Beckley’s son and daughter, his landlord, and a model that works at his agency have nothing but praise for his character. The Triton’s owner swears he never saw Beckley before or after the couple times he booked a room at his motel for him and Maria to use – when Alexander asks him if he could say the same for Maria, he says possibly, but all sorts of stiff whores come and go through his doors and he can’t really tell them apart. At least the judge sustains Alexander’s objection that he use a more appropriate language in a court of Law.

They couldn’t get any model to show up in Maria’s defense, because while she’s pretty well-liked in the industry, it’s obvious to everyone whose favor the wind is blowing and they don’t want any retaliation when Beckley comes back with a vengeance. Or his colleagues take it upon themselves to punish this unforgivable defection for him. She does volunteer at the Children’s Aid Society, which earns her a little credit until Jefferson points out she only started doing it after the affair with Beckley and somehow convinces the jury that it was all part of a big scheme to win their sympathy in case she ever went to trial – never mind that she applied months before but had to go through a million steps before they let her join because she’s PDS.

The only evidence that does seem to have some pull on the jury is her account balance – Alexander argues that she was doing well as a model, much better than when she was alive, in fact, so she had no reason to go and jeopardize that. James Reynolds is another story. He had no steady income and more vices than you can count, which makes him way more likely to have been the one pushing for Maria to make some money out of her affair. Ultimately, though, it doesn’t make much of a difference – there’s no ultimate proof that Reynolds coerced Maria into blackmailing Beckley, while the jury knows for sure is that she was very much involved with the crime.

Jefferson’s closing statement is as well-polished as the opening, but shorter, thank god, and way more gloating. His ego is possibly even bigger than Alexander’s and he was pretty sure of the win before the trial even started, but it’s a whole other kind of satisfaction to actually make it happen. And at this point no one in the room believes Maria and James have the ghost of a chance.

Well, no one except Alexander.

“I think we’ve spoken long enough, so I will be brief,” he starts. “I would like to make a plead to the jury that when they consider this case, they bear in mind the most important, indisputable piece of truth that emerged from today’s discussion. Everyone makes mistakes.”

Jefferson snorts out loud – _just give up_ , it says. _You lost. Stop embarrassing yourself and admit it._ The judge is so baffled that she forgets to call for a more proper behavior. Even Maria is looking at Alexander like she just wants him to shut up at this point.

He keeps on talking like nothing happened. “Everyone slips up. We’re human, it’s what we do. We lie. We go crazy sometimes. We cheat on our partners, we act immorally, we like bad, shameful things. We get angry, drunk, violent.” Alexander looks at Reynolds as he says the words. _I’m onto you_. “We hurt the people we love and kill the ones that stand in our way. When we can have more, we get greedy, no matter who we’re walking over in the process. And I know you all know this, because I see the way you’re looking at me. I know what you’re thinking. _Why is he wasting our time talking about this obvious stuff? Does he really think it’s going to help his client? That the jury will go, Golly, I’d never looked at it that way, free passes for everyone?_ ”

His audience exchanges looks. Busted – that’s exactly what they were thinking.

“That is not the outcome I’m looking for, of course. I know it’s unattainable, and more importantly, it’s not something we should strive for. After all, it’s because we’re all flawed, because we are all liable to make mistakes, that we need a justice system. A common agreement between all citizens that the perpetrator of an offense should be judged fairly, and their victim should receive fair compensation. Note how I’m using the word _fair_ , it will come back later.”

Jefferson can’t take it anymore. He seems more bored than afraid, but Alexander chooses to believe the latter. That’s definitely the version he’s going with when he tells the whole story later. “Your Honor, if I may, I believe the defense is wasting everyone’s time.”

“Sustained,” Judge Sullivan agrees. “Mr. Hamilton, I’m going to have to ask you to either get to the point or let us carry on with the instruction.”

“Of course,” Alexander reluctantly accepts, side-eying Jefferson and not even trying to hide it. He could talk their ears off for two hours straight, but god forbid Alexander is granted fifteen minutes of everyone’s precious time. “Let’s just have a quick review of the parties involved in this case, shall we? We have Tim Beckley, the victim, who acted immorally, but not illegally, by cheating on his wife with one of his clients. The law isn’t going to punish him, although I suspect his life isn’t quite the same as it used to be. He made a bad choice and he’s suffering through the consequences with dignity.”

Beckley nods at that. Quiet resignation. He thinks he’s won already, but he wants to play the Squeaky Clean Guy part ’til the end, and Alexander can respect that.

“Then there’s our alleged criminals – James and Maria Reynolds. According to the prosecution, they have plotted together to seduce Mr. Beckley, take incriminating pictures of him and blackmail him into giving them a ridiculous amount of money not to have them circulating. Have I left anything out, Mr. Jefferson?” he asks, turning to the opposition.

Jefferson sighs, vexed. “Yes. They also hired a lawyer that seems intent on keeping us in here forever to postpone his unavoidable defeat.”

“Right. Thank you for that.” Alexander speaks quickly, afraid that the judge will really get fed up with him and move on before he’s done. “If the jury finds them guilty, they’re facing a pretty consistent fine and one year in jail. Oh no, wait,” he pretends to remember, looking at the judge meaningfully. “That’s what James Reynolds is facing. His accomplice, who according to the prosecution is guilty of exactly the same offenses, is going to get a life sentence at a treatment center. I’m not going to get into how much worse than a prison those places are, because it’s a subject I could talk about for hours and it would seem like the opposition’s attention span is quite limited, so I’m only asking you to look at the most blatant facts. One year and a thousand dollar fine for extortion – a fair sentence. A lifetime and a thousand dollars, still for extortion – maybe not so much.”

The jury is exchanging glances, whispering among themselves. For the first time, Jefferson looks worried. Alexander loves it.

“In conclusion, I’d like to go back to what I said earlier. We need a justice system, but for it to work, it has to be fair, and I think it’s obvious to everyone here that our current justice system is not. Our society has gone through paramount change in the last couple of years, and we should be able to admit without shame that some things still need to adjust to it. We should be able to look at the reality underneath the hard set laws and realize that we can do better. Sure, we can cover our eyes and ears and go on like nothing happened. We can avoid talking about it, even thinking about it with some discipline, but we will always know. We will know that this,” and Alexander spreads his arms in a gesture that encompasses the whole courtroom, “is only a pointless exercise. A relic of the past that we carry with us out of weak sentimentalism. Because the truth is that our justice failed. It failed Maria Reynolds, and the countless people who will come after her, and most importantly, it failed its original purpose. There is no right or wrong anymore, only crime and punishment. And that is not justice, it’s bureaucracy. It’s routine.”

Alexander sits back down, and he almost expect an applause. Is almost disappointed when there isn’t one. There’s Judge Sullivan’s pensive stare, though, and Jefferson’s silent but still pretty evident fuming, and Maria, looking at him like he’s the god come to set everything right at the end of a play. She hugs him when the jury finally leaves to deliberate. Tight with gratitude and admiration and the deepest trust.

“That was incredible,” she gushes. “Really. No matter how this goes, that speech is going to be so important for PDS rights. They’ll write about it in history books.”

Alexander smiles, pleased. “That’s what I’m aiming for. Fame and glory. I don’t really care what happens to you.”

“Well, if I have to be a means to an end, at least I’m a means to a good end.”

“My fame and glory?” Alexander teases her. He can’t be serious right now, can’t acknowledge that this could be the very last time they get to joke around like that.

Maria seems to be on the same page, at least. There’s nothing but amusement in the way she rolls her eyes. “No, _chico tonto_. PDS equal rights. It’s nice to know at least I’m going to be a martyr of the rebellion, and not, you know, just a girl who screwed up.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you’re not going to be a martyr of anything. You’re not going down for this,” Alexander insists, even though anyone who was at the trial would probably have a lot to say about that.

Maria just smiles at him. “You know, after that speech, I almost believe you.”

They hang together the whole time the jury’s out, keeping each other company and deliberately avoiding Jefferson and James. If it’s Maria’s last moments of freedom, she deserved better than to spend them surrounded by jackasses.

Angelica, Mulligan, Lafayette and Eliza all check in to know how the trial’s going, and Alexander really wishes he’d had the foresight to make a group chat about it because typing the same stuff four times in a row is quite annoying. The worst part is that he wishes he could send a fifth text, but predictably, there’s not a peep from Laurens. Even though Alexander is _sure_ Laf and Mulligan told him the trial was today.

It takes the jury almost two hours to come to a verdict. Alexander sits next to Maria, squeezes her hand in silent reassurance. She holds it back so tight that it would hurt if either of them were still alive.

To no one’s surprise, James is found guilty. He’s sentenced to the already established fine plus year of jail time. No deal for him, then – Alexander suspects he spilled everything he knew before he was granted any kind of immunity. Serves him right for not getting a decent lawyer. Not that Alexander would have helped him sell off Maria.

“As for the defendant Maria Lewis Reynolds,” the judge carries on, and Alexander feels a knot in his stomach. He’s lightheaded, and even though he’s already sitting, he wishes he could lie down. He’s never been so scared in his life. “The jury has found her guilty.”

It’s one of those moments where reality doesn’t feel real anymore. One second Alexander is sitting there, wishing for a miracle with every fiber of his being, and the next he’s looking at himself sag back in his seat and curse, at Maria muttering _no, no, no, no_ in a broken voice that would do anything to dissolve into tears, at Jefferson’s self-congratulatory expression. Really, what is the point of people like Jefferson?

And what did Alexander expect? He got his ass kicked at the trial. Not that the case was an easy win, mind you, but he made a mess out of it. He just sat there, perfectly happy to let Jefferson run the show, confident that his closing statement would be enough to sway the jury to his side. As if that were a thing that actually happens. How terrible a lawyer is he?

“However,” Judge Sullivan adds, “the defendant’s sentence has been changed. After some discussion, the jury decided that it would be more beneficial to everyone if the defendant didn’t spend more time at the Albany treatment center, but were instead to dedicate 36 hours a week to community service for the following two years. She will still pay her one thousand dollar fine to Mr Beckley, of course.”

It’s the best thing Alexander has heard, ever. Well, second best thing. The first is Maria’s little cry of joy as she hugs him, and they both start laughing hysterically.

“You made it!” she squeaks in his ear, happiness giving her voice a high pitch that sounds just too adorable to be legal.

“Yeah!” Alexander agrees, just as exhilarated. “I told you I would!”

The judge has to call them back to attention. Repeatedly. Later, Alexander will probably kick himself for not trying a little harder to keep his cool, but right now he’s too elated to give a shit.

He made it.

 

Alexander’s plan was always to go to the Archive right after the trial – either to celebrate or to get drunk enough to forget the pain, if only temporarily. What he didn’t expect was for half the people he knows to already be there. And to start cheering loudly the second he sets foot in the place.

“Woohoo! Here they are!”

“Congratulations, guys!”

It’s the middle of the afternoon, yet they’re all gathered around the bar – Angelica, of course, but also Mulligan, Lafayette, Eliza, Theodosia, even Washington. Alexander assumed they’d have things to do and here they are instead, taking half a day off just to celebrate him. Well, except for Theodosia, probably, but even if she only showed up to keep Eliza company Alexander is going to count it as a win.

“What’s this?” he asks, not quite capable of hiding how pleased he is.

“We’re celebrating,” Angelica announces, raising the two empty glasses she just grabbed for him and Maria. “Maria’s freedom and your mad lawyery skills.”

“And Jefferson getting his ass kicked,” Mulligan adds knowingly.

Angelica smirks back at him. “That’s just a fringe benefit. One that I really appreciate, mind you.”

“You’re welcome. Remember that you owe me forever now,” Alexander says, cockily raising his eyebrows, and Angelica pretends to spit in his drink.

Ahh, family.

There’s an obligatory round of hugs and shaking hands to go through, and then Alexander gets a seat next to Washington. Who looks strangely at ease smacked in the middle of Alexander’s crazy friends.

“Leaving the wife all the work while you hang with the guys, huh?” Alexander teases him.

“She can manage on her own,” Washington replies. As if Alexander didn’t know that by now. “Besides, she’s the one who insisted one of us should come congratulate you in person. She’s very proud of you, Alexander – we both are. We have faith in you, but if I have to be honest, we weren’t expecting you to succeed this time.”

There’s a smug remark on the tip of Alexander’s tongue, but what he hears himself say is: “Yeah. Me neither.” He bites his lip. “Still, I couldn’t let it go, you know? And yeah, part of it is because I’m stubborn, but mostly it’s because… because I couldn’t. This was too important.”

Washington nods in that grave way of his. “And you were right not to. You accomplished something major.”

“Great speech, by the way,” Theodosia compliments him from a few stools over.

“Thank you,” Alexander replies automatically. Then his brain catches up with Theodosia’s words. “Wait, how do you know about my speech?”

“It’s online,” Mulligan supplies. “Someone put it on YouTube minutes after the trial ended. It’s already got thousands of views.”

“Really?” Alexander grabs his phone and checks. There it is, _Hamilton Fair Laws Speech at Reynolds Trial 4/23/16_ , uploaded two hours ago, over twelve hundred views already. And hundreds of comments, not all of them favorable. He already knows how he’s going to spend the evening. “God, look at this, Memento20186 is already saying the judge’s decision is a violation of the Constitution. And Jeremy Brown jumped to the treatment centers’ aid, of course. Now, I know it would be foolish of me to ask they start educating themselves before they talk, but would it kill these people to come up with…”

He stops. He was looking forward to taking on the trolls, but it looks like someone has beaten him to it – some guy who’s been praising his speech and humiliating the ignorants for the last hour or so. And even though he’s using a pseudonym – QueerRevolution92 –, Alexander instinctively knows who it is even before checking the profile and finding out he’s based in South Carolina and his interests include social justice, more or less obscure fantasy novels, and science crap.

Alexander can’t help smiling. A wistful smile, but a smile nonetheless. They might not be on speaking terms, but it looks like Laurens still has his back.

He’s debating the chances of Laurens panicking and bailing if he were to join the discussion when Angelica solves the dilemma for him.

“Don’t make me confiscate your phone, Alexander,” she warns him. “We’re all here for you, the least you can do is acknowledge us.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he concedes immediately, hiding his phone back into his pocket. He’s learned it the hard way, Angelica isn’t one to make a threat and not follow through with it. “I’m just appalled at people’s idiocy.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“This is good, though,” Eliza points out. “It doesn’t matter what a few ignorants say, the important thing is that people hear what you said. I think it’s really going to make an impact.”

“Me too,” Maria agrees. “You can’t really see it from the video, but the people at the trial… It’s like your speech changed them. Well, not exactly. It was more like it opened a whole new world to them. I guess they hadn’t ever really put themselves in our shoes before. But you helped them do it, and if that video keeps going around, you’re going to help so many more.”

“I hope you’re right. They do need a lot of help, unfortunately.”

“One step at a time,” Washington reassures him, and for once his stale common sense doesn’t rub Alexander the wrong way. “We’ll get there. For now, let’s just celebrate your victory.”

They do. Alexander and Washington start an unspoken competition over who can offer more rounds to the others, so everyone gets pretty drunk pretty fast – with the exception of Eliza, because she’s going to have to pick up Philip from a classmate’s birthday party at some point. Still, she shows everyone that she doesn’t need to drink to have a good time, laughing loudly with Angelica and Theodosia and slaying with My Heart Will Go On when Alexander and Lafayette convince her to join them for karaoke.

The afternoon goes by in a blur, but Alexander remembers one moment, coming out of the bathroom where he went to surreptitiously check his phone and seeing everyone there – Eliza and Theodosia dancing to Halo, a very tipsy Mulligan trying to drag Lafayette away from the table where he’s talking to Washington, Angelica passing around drinks like there’s no tomorrow and Maria downing them squealing, “ _Libertad_ , baby!” – he remembers looking at his friends, his family of choice and luck, and feeling like he can do anything, take on anyone. He’s accomplished so much on his own, what can stop him now that he has the support of such fierce, loyal, incredible people?

Burr shows up when it’s getting late, although it’s not dark yet, and everyone is far gone by then. Still, his presence sobers up the mood somewhat – especially in Theodosia’s case.

“I should be going,” she tells Angelica, dumping a few bills on the counter. Not even looking at Burr. “You can keep the change.”

Angelica eyes her up and down. “Thanks, but there’s no way you’re going all the way back to the apartment in that state.”

“C’mon, I’m not driving, I’m fine.”

“It’s okay,” Eliza steps in, locking arms with Theodosia. “I’ll go with her. I have to pick up Philip anyway.”

Angelica nods her approval. “See ya, sis. Theodosia.”

“See you, thank you for everything! And congratulations again, Alexander, Maria.”

They have to walk past Burr on their way out, because he’s still standing two steps from the threshold, unsure of what to do. Alexander was expecting Theodosia to keep ignoring him, but he’s surprised when Eliza, always graceful, always forgiving, does the same. Whatever happened between Burr and Theodosia, it must have been bad.

Thank god for drunk happy girls. Maria raises a giant middle finger to the awkwardness by flinging herself into Burr’s arms.

“Aaron! You were right, he did it, I’m free!” she shrieks, doing her best to hop excitedly. Which isn’t the best idea when you’ve been drinking for two hours and are still wearing heels. (Yup, she changed into an impressively high pair of heels for the party.)

Burr smiles, holding her shoulders to ground her. “O–okay. Careful there. It’s 5 PM, how can you already be drunk?” He looks around, maybe in the hope to find someone that will agree with him. Not his lucky day for that. “Jesus. Are you all wasted?”

“I’m not,” Angelica declares, and okay, _wasted_ doesn’t really apply to her situation. She’d have a hard time passing as sober, though.

“Wonderful,” Burr says, escorting Maria to one of the booths. “Could you get me a brandy?”

“Ooh, yes, one for me too!” Maria demands, sounding way too excited about the prospect.

Burr shakes his head. “No way. You’ve already had enough. You can have coffee, if you want,” he adds condescendingly when she starts pouting.

“Oh, leave her alone, it’s her party!” Alexander protests, joining them.

“That’s right,” Maria says. “And you didn’t even congratulate me, you… mean old lawyer guy.”

Alexander snorts in amusement at the sad attempt, and Burr can’t quite hide a smile, either. He’s genuinely fond of the girl, Alexander realizes.

“Sorry. Congratulations,” Burr acquiesces. “Could you stop hurting yourself, now?”

“I’d love to, but you know that’s not the way I’m wired,” Maria tells him with a cheeky spark in her eyes. “That’s why I need my guys to protect me.”

She pulls them closer as she says it, her left arm around Alexander’s shoulders, her right around Burr’s, and while they’re both more than happy to hug her, it kinda forces them to be closer to each other too. Which wasn’t something they particularly enjoyed before, and has become unbearable after their fight at Burr’s apartment.

Even hammered as she is, Maria notices the tension. Unfortunately, her willingness to mind her own business vanished four drinks ago.

“What’s up with you two?” she inquires. “You’re supposed to like each other.”

“We don’t,” Burr replies a little too quickly. Not that Alexander’s feelings are hurt or anything. “We never did and never will.”

“What? But you were friends before I met you!” Maria protests.

“We were acquaintances at most.”

“And now we’re barely even that, because Burr is no-fun and full of resentment,” Alexander steps in.

“I’m private,” Burr amends. “And it doesn’t work well with Alexander’s penchant for meddling in other people’s affairs.”

“Excuse me for giving a shit about the people I consider friends.”

“Please. You were just looking for something to blackmail me with.”

“Only so that _you_ would stop blackmailing _me_!”

“Well I wouldn’t have had to do that if you’d just been a decent person and accepted to help out Maria when I asked you.”

“Wait a second,” Maria jumps back in. “You blackmailed Alexander into taking the case? And you,” she turns to Alexander, “you acted all high and mighty I-don’t-know-if-your-case-is-good-enough-for-me even after you’d already told him you’d help me?”

“I never said…” Alexander starts protesting, at the same time as Burr pathetically tries to defend himself with: “That’s not really how…”

Maria bursts out laughing. “I love you guys, I swear.”

Alexander and Burr exchange a perplexed look. That was not the reaction they were expecting.

“Uh, thanks? We love you too.”

“Awesome. Let’s celebrate this love.” Maria turns to Angelica. “Another round, please!”

Alexander couldn’t say whether that was Maria’s plan from the beginning – if he has to be honest, he doubts that after drinking so much she could have remembered her own name, let alone come up with a working plan. You never know, though, and Maria has proved to be full of surprises. If someone could scheme while lying drunk under the table, that’s Maria Reynolds.

Either way, stuck sitting together as Maria gets them more and more wasted, Alexander and Burr start getting over how much they hate each other’s company. Not just that, you could say they’re _enjoying_ it.

Half an hour of this and Alexander doesn’t even have to ask about Theodosia, it’s Burr that starts spilling as if confiding to a lifelong friend.

“I met her at the firm’s Christmas party,” he tells Alexander. “I was bored out of my mind and she was bored out of her mind, so we got to talking and next thing you know it’s the best night that’s happened to me in years. My boss introduced us, so it’s not like I didn’t know how dangerous it was, but for once I didn’t care. She was worth the risk.”

“So what happened?” Alexander asks, thinking back to the awkwardness of an hour ago. He isn’t trying to get dirt on Burr, he’s genuinely curious. God bless the alcohol.

Burr leans forward, closer to him. “She broke off her engagement,” he reveals, “and I panicked. She should have told me first, right? We could have come up with a plan together. But no, she always knows best, so she did it on her own. And at the worst possible time, of course.”

“I can’t believe you,” Maria comments. She’s followed Burr’s advice and switched to coffee, so she’s the only one who has actually sobered up in the last hour or so. “I know a thing or two about being the third woman, and this is not how it works. Usually, the problem is that the one who’s married or engaged or whatever can’t find the guts to break it off and be with their lover, not the other way round.”

“I guess Theodosia and I are special, then,” Burr shoots back, downing what’s left of his drink.

“So wait, you broke up with her ‘cause she left her fiancé for you?” Alexander insists. Maria is right, this is unbelievable – and so completely Burr.

“Of course not,” Burr protests. “We argued, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. I was in love, it doesn’t go away so easily.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Maria says, and Alexander follows suit. It sucks, seeing Burr like this. He used to think the guy was untouchable, looking down on them from the tower of detachment he’d built for himself, but it turns out he’s just like everyone else. Loving recklessly and getting hurt by it. He’s just better at hiding it.

“So she broke up with you,” Alexander deduces.

Burr nods sadly. “It was on me, though. She derailed her own life for me and still I was afraid. I asked her to wait, see if my interviews with other firms went well before we let my boss do the math and realize his future wife had left him for me. We could have kept seeing each other in secret. She wouldn’t have it, though, and eventually she decided she’d had enough and left me.”

Scratch that, _this_ is so completely Burr. Always too busy calculating every possible negative outcome to actually go and live his life. Getting nothing because nothing is all he’s willing to risk.

Normally, Alexander would point it out, tell him he brought it on himself and this should be his wake up call. _You can’t go on like this, you need to start taking some responsibilities upon yourself_. But call it Maria’s fault for making them bond, or Laurens’ for leaving him with an open wound he’s starting to fear will never heal, call it Alexander going soft in his old age, whatever the reason is, he doesn’t feel like being a jerk to a guy who’s already blaming himself even more than necessary.

So he just gives Burr a pat on the back and says, “That sucks, man. I’m sorry.” He thinks of something else, then, and groans in pretend annoyance. “So wait, we were both having a secret relationship at the same time? How come you knew all about mine and I only found out about Theodosia like two weeks ago?”

“Because we were actual adults having an affair and handling it with the proper caution, while you and Laurens had the subtlety of two cats in heat,” Burr explains unkindly. Looks like he’s back to his usual, snotty self.

“Come on, you’re just jealous because…” Alexander starts saying, but he’s cut off by Angelica clapping her hands to draw everyone’s attention. She’s holding her phone in one hand and there’s a wild light in her eyes.

“Guys! Guys, I’m sorry but I need you all out stat. I have to go, I… Philip was shot.” Her voice breaks on the last three words and she pauses in horror, so pale that she looks like an undead herself, her hands shooting up to press against her mouth. As if to prevent it from letting more bad news get out. “Oh my god. Philip was shot.”

She breaks into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deserve every horrible thing you want to say to me =S


	33. In which everyone mourns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Since last chapter got a few more comments than usual, and I'm going to be away for a couple of weeks so I probably would have missed next Friday's update, I decided to post the chapter a little early. Thanks to everyone for your feedback – I know it was mostly y'all screaming at me but I appreciate how much you care about this story ;D

Even a kid’s birthday party can be very tiring if you’re PDS. The screams and laughter, the music, the smells, the parents offering you cake, _I know you technically can’t have food but just try one bite, it’s so good, I promise I won’t tell anyone_ and then getting offended when you keep telling them you really, _really_ can’t… Philip has been both at grown-up parties and at kid parties, and he has always found the former way less overwhelming. Because they were all taking place at Aunt Jelly’s bar, and people are more careful there. Most of them are PDS themselves, like Alexander and his friends, and even if they aren’t they tend to know how to act around people who are. Mom knows sneaking up on them is not a good idea, for instance, and Aunt Jelly knows she shouldn’t play the music too loud. Philip’s classmates can’t even begin to dream of it.

He knows it’s not because they’re bad people – most of them are really nice, in fact. Even to him. It’s just that they don’t get it. He’s the only PDS sufferer they’ve ever really met, or at least the only one they have to invite to their parties, so they have no one to tell them how Philip feels. And very few of them want to go through the trouble of asking him.

That’s okay with Philip, anyway. He’s okay spending the majority of the party holed up in the quietest room he can find, with just a book to keep him company. It’s not like anyone minds – on the contrary, they seem relieved to go on with the celebrations without having to worry about the weird undead kid. The only times Philip gets any trouble is when Dolly tries to sneak away with him, because apparently it’s wrong for boys and girls to do that.

It happens at Martha’s party too. They’re hiding in her parents’ room upstairs and Dolly is making him listen to a new playlist she just made (lots of upbeat, cutesy pop stuff – not really Philip’s genre, but he likes these particular songs for some reason) when Martha’s mom barges in, turning on the lights. Bright, harsh lights. Philip groans in pain and annoyance, but only Dolly notices it.

“There you are!” Martha’s mom exclaims. She doesn’t look angry or scandalized, but her forced cheerful tone is just as annoying. “What are you two doing, hiding in here? There’s a whole party waiting for you upstairs!”

“Philip wasn’t feeling very well,” Dolly replies quickly. She doesn’t let other people intimidate her, not even adults – it’s one of the reasons why she’s so much fun to hang with. “He’s PDS, you know, and everyone’s being too loud downstairs.”

Martha’s mom looks him up and down. As if she’s trying to assess how bad he’s doing. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she eventually says. “Do you want me to call your mother?”

“No, it’s okay, Mrs. Barry. Thank you.” Mom always says to be polite, and Philip has learned that it pays off most of the times. “I just need to stay here a while. Away from all the noise, you know?”

“Sure. You stay here as long as you like, Philip.”

He and Dolly exchange a triumphant look. _That was easy_.

“But you should really come downstairs, Dolly. Everyone is asking after you, and if Philip isn’t doing well he probably needs some peace and quiet.”

Shoot. Looks like Philip spoke too soon.

“I don’t mind,” he clarifies quickly, but to no avail.

So down the stairs and to the party Dolly goes, and Philip resigns himself to spending another afternoon on his own. Good thing he always takes a book with him. And Dolly left her iPod with him, so he can go on listening to her playlist. Even though it’s not the same without her next to him gushing about every song.

Still, the music is good and his book is enthralling – so much so that he doesn’t even realize how late it’s gotten until his watch starts bleeping. His daily reminder to take his medication. Mom usually does it for him, but he’s learned how to do it on his own for situations just like this one. He’s quite proud of the fact.

Philip gets up from the spot at the foot of the bed where he’s been sitting for the last couple of hours and reaches for his school bag, where Mom always packs his medication. Or she usually does, anyway. Today, Philip can’t seem to find any, no matter how much he rummages through it.

He takes a deep breath, trying not to panic – that’s what Mom and Alexander would do. They never panic, they think stuff through and come up with ideas, and that’s what Philip is going to do as well. He’s going to be a grown-up about this.

So… the first thing he needs to do is call Mom, and ask her to bring him his medication ASAP. It’s going to take her a while, though, and Philip knows he isn’t going to hold on that long… especially with so many people downstairs. Boys and girls that look a lot like him, except they’re weak and full of fear. Philip can almost see them, running in all directions like chickens with their heads cut off, shrieking in terror as he seizes one after the other and…

Shit. It’s happening. There’s no time to waste, he needs to call Mom before he turns, and then find a key to lock himself inside the room until she’s here. He can do it.

He can do it.

That’s when he notices his phone is missing too. He always keeps it in the front pocket of his school bag – for emergencies only, Mom made him promise when she bought it for him –, it’s always there, ready for him to use. So where did it go?

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He can do this, he can find another solution, but he needs to calm down first. He’s not as smart as Alexander yet, he can’t possibly hope to come up with a good plan if he’s freaking out.

God, he really wishes Alexander were here. Alexander would know what to do.

_Okay. Deep breaths. Don’t be afraid. Deep breaths. Don’t be afraid. Deep…_

And just like that it works, the fear is gone. Completely. He didn’t just stop freaking out, he stopped being scared or even a little worried. This is so much better. He’s great.

And hungry.

He heads downstairs.

 

Eliza has dropped off Theodosia at home and is just getting into her car when her phone starts ringing. It’s one of those moments that begin in the most ordinary way and end up being seared into your brain for the rest of your life. Like when her parents announced out of the blue that they were getting a divorce, when her pregnancy test turned out positive in spite of her prayers that it wouldn’t, when Jimmy took her out to dinner and she thought he was going to broke up with her but he proposed instead.

Like when she lost her son for the first time.

“Hello?” she answers distractedly as she checks the rearview mirror to decide just how presentable she is. The caller ID is unknown, so she’s expecting it to be a wrong number or something.

Instead, the guy at the other end says, “NYPD. Is this Miss Elizabeth Schuyler?”

“It is indeed. How can I help you?” Eliza asks. Her thoughts immediately fly to Angelica. Did something happen at the bar? Another attack, maybe? But most of her friends were there, surely someone would have thought of calling her. Besides, when was the last time the police took an interest in the Archive?

“Are you safe? Are you sitting down?” the officer wants to know, and it makes Eliza’s heart jump. She’s heard enough bad news in her life to know when they’re coming.

“Yes. Yes, I am. What happened?”

“I’m calling to inform you that your son, Philip Schuyler, is dead,” he says. Just like that. Finding out she lost Philip again, for good this time, through a formal phone call – that’s another moment Eliza couldn’t forget in a million lifetimes.

The officer might be still talking, but Eliza can’t hear him over the ringing in her ears. It feels both like a dream and horribly, heart-wrenchingly real. _Your son Philip is dead. Your son Philip is dead. Your son Philip is dead._ It can’t be true, it doesn’t make sense, yet it’s the only thing she can think of.

“No,” she protests weakly. Then, louder in spite of the tears that threaten to choke her: “No, no, please God, not again.”

“I’m sorry,” the officer says. He doesn’t sound all that sorry, but Eliza chooses to believe him.

“How?” she asks, and even getting the single syllable out is a struggle.

“He went rabid at a schoolmate’s house. The officers on the scene had no choice but to take him down.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Philip had his medications, Eliza packed them into his schoolbag herself, and he knows how to inject himself. He’s always been able to, because he rarely ever got bad flashbacks – what with him and Jimmy laying low and never really hurting anyone. And even if he had some kind of trouble, he’s a responsible kid, he would have called Eliza or gone to one of the adults in the house for help.

So how on earth did he go rabid? How on earth was he shot?

“That’s not possible,” she says, hating how weak her voice sounds. No one is going to listen to her if she’s crying desperately as she speaks, but she can’t seem to stop. “He always took his medications, always, how could he…”

“I’m sorry,” the officer interrupts her, and this time it’s clear that’s not what he means. What he means is, _Cut it out, your pain is making me very uncomfortable and I have a job to go back to_. “We’re still looking into what happened. We will be able to provide you with more information in a few hours.”

“And what am I supposed to do now?“ Eliza asks – pleads. She’s begging him to give her some direction, a purpose, because she can’t do it for herself. If she’s left to her own devices she’s just going to stay here forever, sit in her car crying, and crying, and crying and crying, until she’s all dried up and she just… fades away. Yes, that’s all she has the energy to do now. Mourn, and fade away.

“The body is at Lower Manhattan hospital,” the officer supplies. Not your kid anymore – just the body.

Eliza can’t help crying out, and she pushes a hand against her mouth as if that simple gesture could help contain her sorrow. As if it wasn’t already flowing out of her eyes and nose and mouth, soaking her face and taking her breath away.

“As are all the papers you’re supposed to take care of,” the officer carries on. “In your own time, of course, although we would appreciate it if you sped up the process as much as you can. For your own sake as much as ours, I believe.”

“Thanks,” Eliza says without really meaning it. “Thank you. I’ll go right away.”

He says he’s sorry again, that or something along those lines, but Eliza is too distracted to pay attention. She disconnects the call and sits there, mind whirling with one single thought. _Your son Philip is dead. Your son Philip is dead_. Dead, dead, dead. Philip is dead.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there, sobs shaking her as vicious as the life that took her son away. All she knows is when she’s finally done, when she doesn’t have a single tear to cry anymore, she feels old.

She sits up straighter, checks herself in the rearview mirror again. She’s definitely not presentable now – face wet, hair all over the place, death in her eyes. She doesn’t care.

She considers calling Angelica, or Theodosia, she is right upstairs and it would be no trouble at all for her to go with Eliza, but calling someone would mean having to tell them what happened and she doesn’t know how to do it right now. She doubts she ever will. So she turns the key in the engine, and goes see her boy.

The next hour or so is a blurry haze. She gets to the hospital somehow, and she has to go through countless people and check points, and every time someone asks her something she says, “I’m Philip Schuyler’s mother, I’m here to see him”, and it turns out she does have tears in her still, because every time she says it she breaks down all over again. The hospital staff just looks at her with pity and the natural detachment of who’s seen this scene hundreds of times.

When she finally gets to see Philip, he’s lying on a flat metal surface in the morgue. Eyes closed, mouth only slightly open. The back of his head blown off.

“Shhh,” Eliza whispers, taking his hand into hers. Somehow it feels colder than when she held it this morning. “Shhh, baby, it’s okay, I’m here. Mom’s here.” She has to stop, a new bout of tears cutting off her words. “I’m so, so sorry. I should have… I’m sorry I wasn’t there. But I’m here now, okay? I’m always going to be here. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

She holds her boy close, close, like when he was still a baby, and cries.

 

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else? Maybe some clothes?” Theodosia asks.

Angelica considers it for a moment. Eliza has barely left the bed since she crashed at Angelica’s the night Philip died, let alone change her clothes, but maybe having a fresh pair around will help change her mind.

“Yeah, good idea,” she accepts. “And pajamas.”

Theodosia nods. “I’ll be right back.”

She disappears into Eliza’s room, and Angelica is left alone in the living room. All of Philip’s stuff is still lying around like the morning he left without knowing he’d never be back. There’s some of his textbooks spread out on the table, and music sheets, and his Nintendo… his Nintendo is still on, Angelica notices. He did that sometimes – leave it on overnight because he couldn’t get to a saving point before bed time. It used to drive Eliza crazy.

Angelica steps closer to the TV and turns off the console. Slowly, almost dramatically. It’s dumb, she knows it, but it feels like an important moment. Like one more piece of Philip is leaving the world, and Angelica is the one erasing it. The least she can do is take a second to think of him while she does.

She shakes herself. She’s here to take care of Eliza, not to let sadness and despair swallow her too.

“You need a hand?” she asks, loud enough for Theodosia to hear her from the other room, but even as she does the other woman comes back with a pile of clothes in her arms.

“All sorted out,” she says, and pushes the clothes into the duffel bag Angelica brought. “These should last her a week or so.”

“Thank you,” Angelica says, and makes to reach for the bag. Theodosia doesn’t hand it to her, though – she’s not ready to let Angelica leave.

“Is she doing any better?” she asks, voice soft. “Because last time I saw her…”

“It’s bad,” Angelica doesn’t sugarcoat it. “But Eliza is the strongest person I know, she’ll get through this.”

Theodosia nods, more hopeful than convinced. “Is she speaking to anyone?”

“To me, sometimes, and to her dad,” Angelica says. “It’s still hard for her, though, so we’re trying to let her be as much as we can. Thank god our parents and Alexander are taking care of all the bureaucratic and legal stuff. She doesn’t need to worry about all that.”

Theodosia purses her lips before asking the next question. “Do you know what happened? I mean… how could it happen?”

Angelica looks away, shakes her head. “I’m not sure, all I have is third-hand information. But I guess he went rabid and he started going after the kids. So the parents… they called the cops. They had to. I mean, what would you have done?”

“But how?” Theodosia asks. “It takes a while to go rabid, it doesn’t really happen by accident. So either someone gave him Blue Oblivion, or he...”

“Yup,” Angelica confirms, hiding her heartbreak under the almost cheerful tone. “He didn’t take his medication.”

“That’s impossible, he knows better than to forget about it,” Theodosia protests.

So Angelica amends: “He didn’t take his medication because he didn’t have it with him.”

That catches Theodosia completely off-guard. Of course, she was there every morning when Philip packed his schoolbag, she must have seen how foolproof the whole procedure was. “What? But Eliza…”

“Eliza always makes sure he has enough, I know, but something must have happened, because the Barrys have a treehouse in their backyard and the cops found his syringe gun with a couple of medication cartridges on top of it. Oh, and his phone too. Even though Mrs. Barry and a friend of Philip’s swear he didn’t even go near the backyard.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Angelica raises an eyebrow. “On my nephew’s deathbed? Perish the thought.”

“No, I mean… You understand what happened here, right?” Theodosia asks, and there’s a strange light in her eyes. Angry, and upset, but also excited. It makes Angelica think of Alexander.

Too bad she doesn’t need that at this moment. “Honestly, I don’t even care right now. All I know is Philip is gone, and Eliza…”

“He was bullied,” Theodosia interrupts her. Not wanting to let it go. If she’s anything like Alexander, she probably can’t. “Philip. Did Eliza ever tell you that?”

Angelica frowns. Of course she did, Eliza tells her everything, but she didn’t make it sound like such a big deal. “She mentioned some trouble with his classmates,” Angelica admits, “but how…”

“This was a prank,” Theodosia concludes, burying a hand in the thick mass of her hair. She sounds almost amused, in a hysterical kind of way. “Fuck. This was all a fucking stupid prank.”

“No. No, it can’t be.”

“How else do you explain it? I know Philip, he never would have endangered himself or anyone else like this. But if someone took his medication and hid it… someone young and dumb and arrogant, wanting to get a laugh out of the rotter kid and not knowing what might happen…”

“Fuck that,” Angelica lets out, not wanting to believe it even as she feels the indisputable truth of Theodosia’s words. “If you’re right…”

“I’ll look into it. Make sure I am,” Theodosia promises. The “before mentioning anything to Eliza” goes unsaid. Not that these days she could get her to listen even if she tried to.

Angelica knows someone who’s going to want to discuss conspiracy theories with her, though. “You should give Alexander a call. I’m sure he’d love to talk this out.”

“I will,” Theodosia promises, finally handing her the duffel bag. “Tell me if you need anything else, alright? And I mean anything.”

“Thank you,” Angelica says. She takes the bag before adding: “I should probably go, Eliza might need something.”

Theodosia nods. “Thank you for keeping me updated.”

“Any time,” Angelica brushes it off.

She should leave. Her work here is done, and standing in Eliza’s living room, where her and Philip’s presence is still alive the way a star’s light, the way a ghost is, can’t do her any good. She should really leave.

She doesn’t move.

Theodosia smiles a sad smile and takes her by the arm, gently guiding her outside. “I know,” she says. “This place feels all wrong without them.”

 

Mulligan hadn’t quite realized how small the shared bathroom in their building really is before he, Lafayette and Burr had the unwise idea to try and fit into it all at the same time. The tiny space around the sink is positively crammed, and it’s almost impossible to move without hitting someone or knocking over something.

“I can’t believe between the three of you there’s not a single mirror in your apartment,” Burr complains after Lafayette accidentally elbows his cover-up mousse and sends it rolling across the floor – cap on, thank god almighty, or they’d have quite a mess to clean up.

“Not everyone is as vain and frivolous as you, _mon cher_ ,” Lafayette retorts. It might sound more convincing if he weren’t currently in the process of applying a second, slightly darker layer of mousse to give his skin a better color.

“Curling your eyelashes is vain and frivolous,” Burr says, throwing Lafayette a sideways glance. “Owning a mirror is practical.”

“Don’t listen to him, your lashes are a work of art,” Mulligan comforts Lafayette, only half-jokingly. “Besides, Burr, if you were so organized you wouldn’t be here to take up our space, would you?”

“Accidents happen. Don’t compare my misfortune to your irresponsibility.”

“ _Ciel_ , Burr, you broke a mirror?” Lafayette asks, and bumps into Mulligan as he very dramatically steps away from Burr. “Ouch. You know you’re going to be cursed for the next seven years, right?”

“Like I’m going to notice the difference,” Burr grumbles.

Now, normally Mulligan would tease him mercilessly about it. What, the corporate leech position isn’t as glamorous as he hoped? Does he feel lonely all alone up in his ivory tower, above and separated from the unruly do-nothings like Mulligan and Lafayette? The words are on the tip of Mulligan’s tongue. But they’re getting ready for Philip’s funeral, and he figures everyone is entitled to feeling a little screwed over by life today.

“Well said, man,” he says instead, giving him a pat on the back. “Curses can bite us. No matter the shit we go through, we come back right on top.”

“Most of the times, at least,” Lafayette amends, voice distant, eyes focused on something only he can see. He does it sometimes – gets lost into his own private dimension of memories and pain. He hasn’t had any more episodes like his first day back, but he still wakes up screaming every other night, and for how much he tries to pretend everything’s fine during the day, it’s obvious he’s not quite all back yet.

At least he’s getting there, though.

Mulligan puts an arm around his shoulders and draws him close. “They’re the times that count,” he says, and Lafayette smiles weakly at him.

Burr looks at them weird, and Mulligan could swear he’s about to say something nasty. So he’s caught completely by surprise when he hears him say: “You know, I don’t think either of you is going down as long as you keep looking out for each other.” He looks in the mirror and either he’s satisfied by his looks or he doesn’t want to waste such a good exit, because he just nods a goodbye and leaves.

“Weird dude,” Mulligan comments.

“Definitely,” Lafayette agrees. “He’s right, though.”

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Philip gets buried at Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn. It’s one of those spring days where the sun shines but the sky isn’t perfectly clear, so the clouds cast long shadows on the earth without being quite able to engulf it in their dark embrace. Philip chose the place himself, kind of – he was buried in Albany before the Rising, and according to Eliza he kept giving her a hard time about it after coming back because he thought Green-Wood was so much prettier.

He was right. They have the ceremony in the shade of a patch of trees, on a little hill from which you can see Manhattan in the distance, and spring is well underway and there’s so much green around and it looks so beautiful that it breaks Alexander’s heart. Because it shouldn’t be allowed. Philip is gone, he can’t enjoy the sun and the sky and the view, so what is even the point? The world could just as well give up. Fold in on itself and collapse. No more spring days, no more days at all without Philip in them. That could work. That would be the only way Alexander could accept Philip’s death – if he knew for sure everything else is about to die with him.

 _Now would be a good time_ , Alexander thinks. _If nothing lasts forever, we should just be done with it all right now._

His prayers were rarely heard before, though, and this time is no exception.

For a kid who mostly kept to himself, Philip has a lot of guests at his funeral. There’s Eliza and Angelica and Peggy, his grandparents, Alexander and his friends, Eliza’s colleagues from school and even some people from her support group, plus a few other friends of hers (Alexander could swear he has already met the redhead in the back, but he couldn’t say where or how) and a surprising good number of people from his school. A lot of them are boys and girls around Philip’s age, and Alexander can’t help wondering if one of them is the bully. The one who hid Philip’s medication and let him go rabid.

Not that it matters. A better look into the events of that tragic afternoon has revealed that the only one who’s really responsible for Philip’s death (god, Alexander still can’t get used to the concept) are the cops who were called on the scene. Especially one George Eacker – the young cop who shot Philip in the head without a second thought, even though, according to pretty much all of the witnesses that weren’t too busy freaking out to notice anything that was happening around them, he had plenty of backup and could have easily overpowered a scrawny kid without resorting to violence, let alone a killing shot.

So Alexander’s wrath was unleashed on Eacker. Or well, it would have been if Angelica hadn’t begged him to stay put and leave Eliza alone with her grief for a few days. Still, you can bet that as soon as she’s ready to talk to him, Alexander is going after Eacker’s ass. He’s going to make him regret joining the force only to further the oppression of minorities.

Philip’s schoolmates are all respectful and contrite during the ceremony, but they all leave in a rush to go play in a nearby park the second it’s over. Even his friend Dolly. Alexander knows they’re young and can’t fully grasp the concept of death and he shouldn’t resent them for it, but he still does a little. Philip deserved so much better than them.

Philip deserved better, period.

Eliza is silent when Alexander goes to hug her, but she holds onto him with a strong desperation that makes him stagger on his feet. He kisses her tear-streaked cheek and can’t help thinking that she looks… not quite like herself. There’s something off about her, like someone has painted her in colors that aren’t as brilliant as usual. Like if Alexander blinked, she might disappear. He wraps his arms around her again, tighter this time.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her hair. “You shouldn’t have to go through this, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,…”

Eliza keeps sobbing into his chest, loud, her pain the only thing about her that doesn’t feel fleeting and fragile right now.

“Me too,” she eventually says, and Alexander has never loved her so much.

Eventually, Angelica leads him away to let other people share their grief with Eliza. She walks him to a couple well into their fifties that’s standing a little way away from Philip’s grave.

“Mama, Dad, this is Alexander Hamilton,” she introduces them. She doesn’t add anything else – that he’s a friend, that he’s a lawyer, that he was close to Philip too, and for a split second Alexander is hurt by it. Then he realizes she doesn’t need to tell them all that, because they already know.

“Of course,” Mrs. Schuyler says, offering him her hand to shake. “We’ve heard so much about you. I just wish we were meeting in more amenable circumstances.”

“But we’re really grateful you came here, of course,” Mr. Schuyler adds.

Alexander bows his head. “Don’t mention it. Philip was like family to me.”

He doesn’t miss the way Mrs. Schuyler’s eyes turn to Angelica, an unspoken question in them, and Angelica shakes her head in response, the little smile on her lips not quite reaching her eyes. It’s going to be a while before it does, Alexander assumes. As for her silent conversation, he doesn’t have a clue what it was about, but it wasn’t meant for him anyway.

“Yes, Elizabeth has told us time and time again how helpful you’ve been to her,” Mr. Schuyler carries on. “And we would like you to help us once more, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

Mr. Schuyler raises his chin. “We want you to represent us in court.”

It only takes Alexander a second to understand what this is about. It helps that it’s exactly what he was hoping for. “Against Eacker?”

Both Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler nod. “They’re calling him a hero for protecting all those kids, when we know if it wasn’t for him one more kid could have been saved that day. We can’t let him get away with that,” he says.

“I agree,” Alexander concurs. This is better than he hoped. Now Eliza can take all the time she needs to recover, and Alexander can immediately start going after the incompetent asshole that caused all this grief. Which is the only thing that will keep him sane – if he has to stop and actually think of what happened to Philip, he’s going to go insane. “Are you staying in New York for a while?”

“As long as our daughters need us,“ Mrs. Schuyler replies with conviction.

“Great. Why don’t you stop by at the firm I work and we talk there? It’s Dandridge & Washington, off the…”

“You work for George Washington and Martha Dandridge? Angelica, why didn’t you tell us?” Mrs. Schuyler rebukes her.

She won’t have it. “Uh… Because I had no idea you knew them?”

“Well, we don’t know them personally, but we’ve admired their work for years,” Mr. Schuyler informs her. “They have done so much for the country, during the Rising and in the last couple of years. We’re looking forward to meeting them.”

They exchange phone numbers and promise to meet very soon, and then they part ways – the Schuylers on bureaucracy duty, seeing as they’re the ones paying for Philip’s burial, and Alexander and Angelica to rejoin Eliza by the grave. She’s strong, even stronger than Alexander expected, but even so it’s obvious that she’s barely holding it together. How could she? Alexander feels like death, and he’s only known Philip for a few months. He never knew the joy of getting him back only to lose him again.

So they stand next to Eliza, Alexander and Angelica and Peggy, trying to provide her with a strength they don’t feel themselves. Shaking hands with countless people, accepting their hugs, their kind words that mean nothing at the end of the day. How many of these people are going to spare a second thought to Philip after this is over?

The sun is low on the horizon by the time they’re done, stretching the shadows of the graves in such a way that it almost looks like they’re desperately reaching for something. Which is ridiculous. This place is rest, it’s stillness – there’s no wishing for something here, and even less trying to get it. It’s just going to stay the same for the centuries to come.

 _Or at least until the next Rising_ , Alexander muses, wistful.

He and Eliza sit there long after everyone has left, watching the shadows grow longer and the cemetery emptier, until all is quiet. Peaceful. It would almost be pleasant if their hearts weren’t bleeding to death.

Eliza is silent even as tears stream down her cheeks, and Alexander wishes he could take her hand, hold her close until they both stop feeling so empty, but he knows she wouldn’t want that. They might be sitting together, mourning together, but at the end of the day, they’re both alone with their grief.

Alexander ends up sitting there longer than Eliza. She stands up after a while, when the sun has disappeared but its light hasn’t yet, and she doesn’t speak, she doesn’t touch Alexander, but there’s something in her eyes that tells him all he needs to know about how sad and grateful and angry and _broken_ she is. He hopes the way he meets her eyes is half as eloquent.

So he’s left alone, sitting in front of Philip’s grave, and he wishes he could cry, he needs the pain he’s feeling to come out in some form or he’s going to burst, so since he doesn’t have any tears to shed he resorts to words. And once he starts they just keep flowing out of him, as uncontrollable and choking as his grief.

“You were right, kid. Fuck, you were always right. You made one single mistake in your life, and it was to listen to me. You should have told me to fuck off, but you were too polite, too good for that, weren’t you? You just had to give everyone a chance to fuck you up. And I did, I did it good. Made you feel like just dealing with your problems wasn’t enough. Like you needed to become this superhero who had to worry about everyone else. Who couldn’t just lay low and try to get through the day. But superheroes have powers, and hideaways and allies. What did you have? A serious medical condition and a mentor who was more than happy to send you to the frontline and leave you on your own. I failed you, Philip. I promised I’d keep you safe but I couldn’t, I didn’t even try, and now your mom is a ghost and you’re in the ground and you’re never coming back this time, and all I can do is sit here like the most useless idiot ever and say I’m sorry. ‘cause you were the best kid – no, the best person I’ve ever known, and now you won’t get to make a difference in the world. I’m sorry. ‘cause you didn’t deserve this, any of this. I’m sorry. ‘cause it’s my fault, I know it’s all my fault, I’m sorry, Philip, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I…”

“Stop it. God, you’re going to drive yourself insane.”

Alexander freezes. He does. The river of words that was flooding out of him runs dry in an instant, and he feels like he might be sick. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. And then he turns around.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Laurens?”

He wishes he could say nothing’s changed, that seeing his friend standing right behind him feels as natural as if he never left. That Laurens still looks like his Laurens, unpredictable and moody but always close in some way, always easy to touch or joke around with.

He doesn’t. He’s wearing a suit, and his hair is shorter, but that’s not it. There’s something else, something that makes it almost difficult for Alexander to even look at him. Last time they talked, they didn’t just get into a fight, they said they were over. For good. This shouldn’t be happening. They shouldn’t… This shouldn’t be happening.

Laurens seems almost amused. “You mean here with you, or in New York in general?”

“I don’t know,” Alexander sighs. He already feels like shit, he doesn’t need his ex lover around to make things worse. “Either. Both.”

“I knew Philip too,” Laurens reminds him, kneeling to bring his face level with Alexander’s, and he’s so close all of a sudden. Then, quieter: “And I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Seriously, _now_ he starts caring about Alexander’s feelings? “Well, you saw it. I’m fucking awful. Does that satisfy your curiosity? Can you stop adding to my misery and leave me alone?”

“Alexander…”

“I don’t want you here, Laurens,” he says, all the anger and confusion and sadness he’s denied himself to feel in the last weeks finally rising up to support his words. “It’s over, okay? Do I get to say it for once? I don’t need you around to hold my hand and be my friend. I have friends. And a girlfriend.” Maria would probably object to that definition, but she isn’t here now and Alexander wants to make it very clear that just because he’s down he isn’t going to be taken advantage of. If Laurens wants his daily fuck, he’s going to have to turn to someone else. “I’m managing without you. More than that, actually – I’m finally doing great. Like you always said I would if only I got free of you. So by all means, go back to Charleston and your not speaking to me routine, because it’s the best thing you ever did for me.”

Laurens doesn’t reply immediately. For a brief moment it even looks like there’s tears in his eyes, the tiniest of drops, but he blinks before Alexander can make sure. And then he nods. “Okay. I’m sorry, I… I’ll leave you alone.” He makes to stand. Stops. “But seriously, stop saying it was your fault. It’s not going to help anyone.”

“It’s not about helping, it’s about owning up to my mistakes.” Alexander hesitates, but in the end he can’t help adding: “Which I admit might be a completely foreign concept to you.”

That was a mistake. Laurens takes the bait, and instead of going away he sits back on the grass, with no apparent intention to leave until this is settled. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You want me to say I’m sorry? You know I am. I loved you so much, and I had to go and fuck everything up. ‘cause that’s what I am – a fuck-up, and an insecure jerk who’ll hurt everyone that tries to get close to me. Even you.” His voice trembles on the last two words, and Alexander has to look away. How did they get so intense so quickly? “I get it, okay? Unfortunately, I know myself. I’m the one who has to live with him, I know what a drag he is. So I’m… I’m not asking you to forgive me, god knows I don’t deserve it, but you need to forget how much you hate me for a second and see the merit of my words. What happened to Philip wasn’t your fault.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know the whole story.”

“I know Philip was happy,” Laurens argues. “He told me once that standing up to bullies was one of his favorite things in the world. I guess it made him feel like he was making a difference. Like he wasn’t invisible anymore. Remind you of someone?”

“How does that make it better?” Alexander groans. “The reckless behavior that got him killed, he learned it from me. I taught him to put pride before his own safety. To make enemies.”

“Come on, they didn’t gang up on him and beat him to death outside of school. It was a dumb prank that ended badly.”

“So?”

“So he didn’t die because he had _enemies_. He died because he was different, and kids can be dumb, and nothing you did or didn’t do could ever change those facts. And if you taught him anything, it was to fight for what he believed in and honestly, I _wish_ I had parents that valued that.”

Alexander couldn’t say how it happened, but at some point of the conversation something broke. Or rather, it was fixed. It might not be _his_ Laurens sitting with him in a graveyard and getting grass stains on his expensive suit, but it’s still Laurens, and even though he won’t ever say it out loud, Alexander is glad he’s here with him. He lies down, eyes fixed on the dark blue of the sky.

“Are you sure? ‘cause if history serves, you’d be dead now,” he points out.

Laurens shrugs. “Some things are worse than dying.”

Alexander snorts. He knows Laurens is right, it’s just… “Kinda hard to believe right now.”

“I know.”

Laurens throws a tentative glance at him before lying on the grass too, right by his side. They’re not touching, but they’re close enough that they could if either of them wanted to. _Either of them_ being Alexander – it’s clear that Laurens is leaving the choice to him.

Alexander closes his eyes and tries to picture Philip’s face. Smiling in that bashful way of his, eyebrow raised skeptically at something Alexander said to tease him, sleeping peaceful in his bed. Hiding in a pillow ‘cause he’s throwing a tantrum. Looking at Alexander like he’s exactly the kind of person he wants to be when he gets older. It hurts so much that it takes Alexander’s breath away, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to let go of the kid’s face. He doesn’t want to forget him, or the pain of losing him.

He doesn’t notice he’s sobbing until Laurens turns to him, sorrow in his eyes, and murmurs a soothing, “Shhh”. He doesn’t add that it’s going to be okay, and Alexander is grateful for it. He doesn’t need to hear it, not now.

There’s the slightest twitch in Laurens’ hand, as if he weren’t sure if he’s allowed to reach out, and Alexander decides he’s had enough. He can go on being mad tomorrow – right now, he wants his friend.

He turns too, buries his face against Laurens’ chest. Laurens hesitates, surprised, but then his arms come up to hold Alexander close. Alexander holds him right back, letting the stainless cotton of Laurens’ shirt take in his sobs. It should be comforting, and in a way it is, yet Alexander finds himself sobbing even harder in his friend’s arms.

“I miss him. God, I miss him so much,” he says, and it comes out all shaky and muffled.

“I know,” Laurens says, and holds him tighter.


	34. In which Alexander attends a family meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry about the delay, it turns out that being on holiday is kinda terrible for writing ^^' We're approaching the end, anyway, so I should be able to update regularly from now on. Thanks for being so patient!

Six days after Philip’s funeral, Laurens is still crashing at the apartment. His stuff all over the place. He used to keep it perfectly tidy when he lived there, even too much so, but apparently the monk-like discipline doesn’t apply to guests because these days there’s clothes on the couch, gross medicine books in the kitchen island, and half-finished booze in his and Lafayette’s room.

Yup, his and Lafayette’s – Mulligan is temporarily bunking with Alexander, because Laurens is better than him at handling Lafayette when he wakes up in the middle of the night thinking he’s still in Albany. And because of the whole _sharing a room with your ex is awkward_ thing, of course, but no one has really brought up the issue. It would have been a moot point, anyway, because technically, Laurens and Lafayette are exes too. Mulligan was right – you don’t shit where you eat. Or if you do, make sure you’re ready to deal with all the consequent complications.

Not that Alexander is too worried about the situation. Ten days ago he would have been – he would have been pissed at Mulligan and Laf for letting it happen, and uncomfortable and moody around Laurens, and he would have wasted hours bitching about it to Angelica, or Maria, or whomever else loves him enough to put up with his bullshit.

It’s kinda hard convincing himself that having Laurens around is the worst thing ever so soon after they buried Philip, though. If there’s a single, ridiculous, insignificant upside to the kid’s death, it’s that it’s helped Alexander put things into perspective. He can start ignoring petty vandals, Internet trolls and unwanted blasts from the past. It’s time to invest his energy in bigger battles.

Starting with getting justice for Philip. The Schuylers got along splendidly with Dandridge and Washington, so Alexander’s bosses didn’t have anything to object to his taking the case. Of course, there’s also the fact that they pay way better than James and Maria Reynolds could afford. They pay better than any other client the firm has had, actually. They really want Eacker to go down, and while Alexander is on the same page and would be happy to help them for free, it feels good to know he’s making some good money for the firm that raised him way above the poverty line in the process.

So all week he’s been interviewing witnesses, because Alexander knows you don’t press charges against cops if you don’t have an airtight case against them – and even then, chances of the fucking murderers being found guilty and punished fairly are so low that he doesn’t even want to think about it. Philip was just a kid, though, and Eacker had two colleagues backing him up, so Alexander hopes the judge will think twice before letting him walk free on the grounds that he had no other choice.

That being said, the witness statements haven’t been very favorable to their case up to this point. Mrs. Barry, her maid and one other parent that was present at the scene all seem to agree on how things went down – a rabid Philip barged into the room as they were all singing _Happy Birthday_ and tried to hurt one of the kids (his friend Dolly, of all people), the cops arrived, Eacker shouted at Philip to stand down and shot him when he didn’t obey. Could it have been avoided? Probably. But a bunch of kids was at risk, no one wants to blame Eacker for acting impulsively. Mrs. Barry even had the gall to point out that it was understandable, who would think twice before putting down a rabid PDS to save a sweet little girl?

That interview didn’t really end well. Alexander doubts Mrs. Barry will call him with further information. Or even keep in touch with Eliza.

But today is Dolly Randall’s interview, and Alexander has good hopes. Not only because she was the only one in that house who actually knew and liked Philip, but because she’s the one who requested to talk to Alexander. Or more exactly, her parents did, but they made it very clear that they only agreed to it after days of relentless begging and whining on Dolly’s part. How she even found out who was working the case, Alexander couldn’t fathom. Then again, this was Philip’s girl. Alexander wouldn’t expect any less.

The Randalls live in Brooklyn as well, albeit in a nicer part of the borough than Alexander’s. The apartment is bigger, too – it has to be, to host a family with three young children and a fourth one on the way. Plus all of said children’s friends, if all the time Philip spent in the place is any indication. Dolly’s parents must be from another world.

“I’m sorry to welcome you in such a state,” apologizes Mrs. Randall. Who, for the record, looks perfectly fine in pants and a slightly oversized Harvard T-shirt. “The kids are helping me bake today, and it can get a little hectic.”

“Don’t mention it, I know how it is,” Alexander reassures her, and lets the wave of nostalgia and sadness over Philip’s death wash over him. Still not okay, then. He doubts he’ll ever be.

Mrs. Randall gives him an inquisitive look, but she must think better than to ask if he has kids of his own. Maybe she knows how close Alexander was to Philip. Or maybe she just wants to get this over with.

Either way, she invites him in and leads him to the living room. Not really that big, but the furniture is nice. Expensive, even – at least from Alexander’s point of view. Two couches, coffee table, big, flat-screen TV with some console plugged in.  Proper paintings on the walls rather than cheap prints. These are people with money, but the kids’ presence is all around the room and it saves it from looking like just another fancy, anonymous place in the Big Apple. Starting with the wobbly writing on the wall that says, _NICKY SMELS OF MONKY POOP_.

There’s orange juice on the coffee table. Two bottles – one plain, the other PDS-friendly. Alexander can’t suppress a fond half-smile. Philip taught them well.

There’s also a little girl sitting on the couch, a book Alexander can’t recognize from just the back cover on the armrest closest to her. She’s tiny, and looks even tinier under the dark jungle of her afro. There’s something in her eyes, though – an intensity, a seriousness that doesn’t really belong in a child’s features. Alexander can’t help wondering whether it’s always been there, or it’s a mark left by the last few days.

She jumps to her feet when she sees Alexander. “Mr. Hamilton. Thank you for coming.”

He would smile at her formal tone if he didn’t realize how important this is to her. Be it because she has vital information about the case, or just because it’s her chance to give her side of the story to someone other than her family, it’s obvious she’s taking it extremely seriously and Alexander could never take it away from her.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he replies politely, following her cue and sitting down on the couch with her. He throws a glance at Mrs. Randall and sees her sit on the other couch, a newspaper in her hand. Giving them privacy, but ready to step in if need be. “I know you have something to tell me, so I’m going to listen. But I will probably have questions, and when I do, I’m going to ask them. I just want you to know that you don’t have to answer them if it’s too painful, or you don’t know the answer, or you just don’t want to, okay?”

Dolly nods. “Okay. But I want to answer. I want to help you,” she says, with quiet determination. Everyone deals with grief their own way – Dolly seems to have chosen vindication. Alexander’s favorite flavor.

“Thank you,” Alexander says. “Don’t think about that now, though, okay? Just tell me what you need to, without worrying about it being helpful or no.”

“Right.” She hesitates, but it’s only out of some kind of reverence. It becomes clear pretty soon that she’s prepared her little speech in advance. “So that afternoon at Martha’s party, someone stole Philip’s medication and he went rabid, right? But he wasn’t going to hurt anyone. I swear. I was with him, he wasn’t dangerous. They could have given him his medicine and it would have been fine. But that officer…”

Alexander remembers one second too late that Dolly was there. Well, of course he knows she was there, that’s kind of a prerogative of her being a witness, but it’s the implications of that little fact that Alexander had neglected to think about. She was there. This little girl sitting on the other end of the couch saw a cop put a bullet right through the head of her first crush. Alexander feels so sick that he has to close his eyes for a moment, take a deep, deep breath.

“Those officers just barged in without even a warning and shot him. Just like that. I was right there with him, he was looking at me, and all of a sudden it’s _BANG_ and he… and his head…”

She starts sniffling, and her mother comes to sit next to her without a word. Holding her close, stroking her hair. Alexander’s nausea is only getting worse.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Randall tells him. “Maybe it’s better if you go, I don’t want to…”

“No!” Dolly exclaims, sitting up so fast that she almost pushes her mother off the couch. “No, please stay, ask me your questions. I want to help you. I really really want to help you.”

Alexander exchanges a glance with her mother. He’s starting to fear that as much as she wants to, Dolly is going to be of little help to the case, so it’s mostly just a matter of what’s best for her. What will make her feel… well, not better, but less like shit at least.

Mrs. Randall nods, a silent encouragement to stay and humor the kid, and Alexander complies. He doesn’t have the heart to leave her like this, and besides, double-checking what she told him might prove useful after all.

“Alright,” Alexander braces himself. “You said Philip wasn’t going to hurt you, right? Why?”

Dolly just shrugs. “Because he wasn’t.”

“Yeah, okay, but why? How can you say that for sure?”

“Because I know him! Philip wouldn’t have hurt me, not even as a rabid. He promised me,” she reveals, voice a little squeaky with grief.

Alexander taps on his leg, nervous. This isn’t helping him at all, but he needs to say it in a way that doesn’t make the girl feel even worse. Tact – it’s amazing Alexander got this far without it.

“I believe you,” he says in the end. “Really. I knew Philip too, and he loved you, so I’m sure he’d never have hurt you. But it’s our word against a room full of people’s, and I…”

“What do they know?” Dolly bursts out, angry. “They were all crying and hiding, nobody was paying attention. But I was. I went right up to Philip, and I took his hand, and I told him it’d be okay, and he _listened_ to me, you understand? He listened. He wasn’t going to hurt anyone anymore. He could have been okay.”

The way she’s saying it, fond and heartbroken and completely genuine… Alexander has no doubt she’s telling the truth. Or what she believes to be true, at least – and that’s where the problem lies. There have been cases of rabids recognizing the people they loved and refusing to hurt them, but they’re so rare, and usually the only witnesses are the loved one in question and a number of other people who at the time of the event were too busy freaking out about the rabid to try and get a sense of their intentions, and aren’t too keen on giving them the benefit of the doubt on principle. Truth is, there aren’t any reliable studies on the subject, and no jury is going to listen to an 8-year-old girl who’s so obviously trying to defend her friend. Not unless she can bring them some proof to back her words. And what kind of proof can they hope to put together? It’s not like the Barrys had security cameras right in the middle of their living room. And Alexander doubts anyone at the party would try and catch the rabid on camera rather than run from him, no matter how young and thirsty for Internet fame they were. So there’s really no way…

Oh. No, wait, there is.

“I’ve talked to a few other people about what happened at the party,” Alexander tells Dolly. “Martha’s mother, her maid… Is it true that Philip came into the living room when Sonya was about to cut the cake?”

Dolly tilts her head, a little puzzled. “Yes, why? It doesn’t change anything.”

“Actually, it might.” Alexander purses his lips, trying not to get too excited about it – which is harder than it sounds. This is the first real lead he’s had since he took the case. “I need you to think very hard about this – do you remember if anyone was recording it? You know, you guys singing happy birthday, Martha blowing out her candles…”

“I don’t have to think about it,” Dolly corrects him. “I’m sure they were. Martha’s mom made Sonya light all the candles again because Davey’s head was in the way the first time, and Madeline spent the whole party going around with her brand new camera. Oh, and I’m pretty sure the reason Davey was in the way was that he was filming Martha too.”

God bless modern technology and parents who can afford to buy their kids fancy cameras. “That’s great. You think you could ask Madeline and Davey to send you the videos?” Alexander asks.

It only takes Dolly a second to catch up. “Because they might prove Philip wasn’t trying to hurt anyone?”

“Exactly.”

Before he can even get the single word all the way out, Dolly has grabbed her phone and has started typing into it at a speed that even Alexander finds quite impressive. “Sure. Actually, we still have the WhatsApp group for the party, I’ll ask there if anyone has any videos.”

“Good thinking,” Alexander approves, smiling in spite of himself. Looks like he found the right partner to work this case.

Eacker doesn’t stand a chance.

 

The sun has set by the time Alexander leaves the Randalls’ apartment, but it’s still light outside. And hot, judging by the faint smell of sweat passers-by can’t quite hide behind endless different deodorants. Summer is on its way.

Alexander is ten minutes from home when his phone starts ringing – and he can’t help the feeling of dread that freezes his chest the moment he sees the caller ID. _Angelica_. She’s working at the bar tonight, surprise surprise, and she doesn’t do casual phone calls when she’s on duty. On particularly slow nights she might text him, but calls? No way, not unless it’s an emergency.

Alexander can’t help thinking of Eliza and panicking.

“Everything alright?” he asks as he picks up.

He knows the answer before Angelica can even reply. There’s a hundred different noises in the background – the tramping of shoes and boots and heels, the screeching and tumbling of furniture being kicked around, the crashing of glasses and bottles. And louder than everything else there’s the screams, twisted by terror and pain into something only human enough to make them more harrowing.

“No,” Angelica confirms his suspicion. “It’s Laf, he’s… bad. I tried calling Laurens and Mulligan but they’re not picking up, and I don’t know what to…”

“Hang in there. I’ll be there in five.”

Actually, it’s only four minutes later that Alexander dashes through the double doors of the Archive. It’s Friday night, so the place should be… Well, not exactly packed – in spite of Angelica and Jefferson’s efforts, the bar is still struggling. Finding it completely deserted is weird too, though. There’s only Jefferson and Angelica, the former half-hiding behind the counter, the latter standing next to a booth on the furthest corner from the door.

She turns to look at Alexander with a mixture of gratitude and relief that makes him want to save the day even more.

“Thank God, Alexander,” Angelica says, hugging him. “I can’t get him to calm down.”

“Where is he?” Alexander asks.

She points him to the booth she was standing next to. Alexander crouches down to look under the table and there he is – Lafayette, shaking, his eyes wide and hyper-alert like the first night he was back. Like they usually are after a nightmare. Shit, why isn’t Laurens here?

Lafayette retreats when Alexander meets his eyes, pushing his back against the wall as if he wanted to disappear into it. He isn’t shouting anymore, hasn’t been since Alexander got here, but his voice is still broken and chilling when he talks.

“I’m not going back there, Doctor,” he cries. “You can’t take me back there. It hurts. It hurts. I can’t go back there, Doctor, I can’t!”

“Shh,” Alexander murmurs, trying to ignore his broken heart and the anger swelling inside him for the time being. He can be angry and sad once Lafayette is doing better. “It’s okay, you’re not going anywhere. I’m not a doctor, I’m Alexander. I’m your friend.”

“You’re not!” Lafayette shouts. “You don’t want to make me better, you want to punish me for what I’ve done. And I know I’m bad, I’m bad and I deserve it, but I can’t. It hurts too much.”

“It’s okay, you’re not…” Alexander starts repeating, but Lafayette isn’t listening to him anymore.

“It hurts it hurts it hurts. I can’t go back. Why can’t you just kill me instead? Please, please kill me, I can’t…” His words turn into gibberish then. It sounds a bit like French, but if it is, the words are too desperate and jumbled together for Alexander to make any sense of them.

“Can’t either of you make him stop?” Jefferson bursts out. He’s not really afraid of Lafayette, Alexander realizes, more like… incredibly distressed. He’s probably realized by now that it’s very unlikely Lafayette will even come close to him, but seeing another human being go through what Laf is going through must be nerve-wracking even for a conceited asshole like him.

“We’re trying,” Angelica snaps back. Looks like they’re all a bundle of nerves.

“This is what I was talking about, you know,” Jefferson says. He’s trying to sound smug, but upset as he is he only comes off as hysterical. “This is the kind of incidents that we can’t afford. Who’s going to come to a place where you can’t even get a drink without…”

“Jefferson, shut the fuck up,” Alexander puts him in his place. Or tries to. He has no time to check if Jefferson is listening to him, though, he already has enough trouble getting through to Laf. “ _Tout ira bien_ ,” he tries. “ _Je suis la. Tout ira bien_.”

Lafayette shakes his head, his voice only growing more desperate.

Alexander sits back on his heels, dejected. “What happened to him?” he asks. Maybe learning what triggered this outburst will help him figure out how to deal with it, he tells himself, but really he doesn’t have the faintest idea how he’s supposed to act. Lafayette hasn’t had any more flashbacks after that first night, only bad dreams, and Mulligan and Laurens have helped him deal with them. Alexander might have been the only one to rush to the scene when Angelica called, but that doesn’t make him any less useless.

“I’m not sure,” Angelica admits. “It all happened so fast. One minute he was sitting at the bar joking about Mulligan standing him up, and the next he was stumbling away screaming that he wasn’t going back.”

“Nobody touched him? Talked to him?”

“Not that I know of.”

Alexander sighs. Looks at Lafayette. He’s been whining softly for the last minute or so, but something in Alexander’s countenance must make him feel threatened because all of a sudden he’s kicking at him, screaming desperately. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I’m not going back there!”

“That’s it, I’m calling the cops,” Jefferson decides.

There’s venom in Angelica’s voice when she threatens: “Don’t you dare.” They’ve obviously had this discussion before.

Alexander shifts back to give Lafayette space, make him feel less trapped, and that’s when he sees Laurens come through the door. For a second he thinks he must be a mirage, some sort of vision born of wishful thinking and desperation, but then he’s skirting past Angelica with a quick, “Sorry, I just got your message” and squatting down next to Alexander and it’s really Laurens, really here to save the day. Alexander could hug him.

“Laf? It’s Laurens, do you recognize me?” he asks, voice calm but steady.

It doesn’t help, of course. “I’m not going back, leave me alone!” Lafayette shouts, and his kicks aren’t really aimed at someone anymore, he’s just thrashing around helplessly. It makes Alexander want to hold him, whisper to him until he calms down.

Laurens has other plans, though. “Turn up the speakers,” he tells Angelica. “As loud as they can go.”

Angelica frowns, but Laurens is obviously in doctor mode and she knows better than to question him when he is, no matter how weird his requests may seem. She hops behind the bar and turns the volume of the music all the way up, until even Lafayette’s screams are drown out by the notes of Rihanna’s _Cheers_.

Laurens stands up then, puts a couple upturned stools back to their place next to the bar and sits on one of them.

Alexander blinks. “Now what?”

Laurens pats the seat of the stool next to his. “Sit down. Let him breathe.”

With one last look in Lafayette’s direction, Alexander complies. He trusts Laurens with this, really. He’s just too curious to listen to him without asking any questions.

“You really think Rihanna’s going to help Laf?” he wonders.

There’s a smile tugging at the corner of Laurens’ mouth, but his reply is serious. “Flashbacks fuck up with your perception of the world around you. Lafayette isn’t just remembering the treatment center, he really is back there, and he’s in so deep that he doesn’t even recognize us anymore. But loud sounds, strong smells, sharp pain – they help ground you, take you out of the flashback you’re trapped into and back to the real world. It would have been better if we’d acted sooner, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Meanwhile, he’s terrorized all our clients,” Jefferson laments again. “This is it, Schuyler. It’s the last straw. Either we build an area where these… PDS people can stay without disturbing the other patrons, or we’re converting this into a PDS-free bar. We can’t afford to be magnanimous at this point.”

“Can we talk about this later?” she asks, rubbing her temples. “When I’m not worried about my friend and we don’t have to shout over the music?”

“Just tell me you see my point,” Jefferson insists.

Angelica looks at Alexander and Laurens, and there’s something so, so tired in her eyes. “Yes,” she admits. “I do.”

“Wonderful. That’s all I asked.”

“If I may,” Laurens says, as serious as Alexander has ever seen him, “it’s not like Lafayette went rabid or anything. He’s having flashbacks because he’s suffering from PTSD, and any living could have that. So really, this episode doesn’t prove that PDS clients are dangerous, only that ones with untreated PTSD are.”

Alexander can’t help smiling. Sometimes he forgets that Laurens loves arguing just as much as he does – and is almost as good.

“That’s true,” Angelica says, sounding incredibly smug for someone who looked drained thirty seconds ago. It suits her way better. “How about that, huh?”

“You know, I liked you better before I bought this place,” Jefferson tells Laurens, peeved.

“Yeah, you and me both.”

That’s when Lafayette finally emerges from his hiding place. His clothes are all rumpled, his hair messy, and he looks older than he ever did, but the terror is gone from his eyes. There’s only exhaustion and shame now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, weakly. It would have been lost in the music if Angelica hadn’t turned the volume down as soon as he crawled back up. “It felt so real.”

Angelica raises a hand to stop the flow of apologies that’s bound to follow. “You don’t have to say anything. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Thank you,” Lafayette murmurs, still shaken, and he doesn’t really seem to believe Angelica’s words.

That worries Alexander more than the flashbacks and nightmares. There’s a darkness to Lafayette that wasn’t there before he was sent back, all the more noticeable because he used to be the most lighthearted person Alexander knew. Now he’s regretful and sad all the time, and happiness seems to be just a transitory stage to him. A summer storm bound to die out as quickly as it started.

Lafayette, Eliza, Laurens… Seems like all of Alexander’s friends are broken these days, and he can hate it as much as he likes, it still won’t make any difference.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” he suddenly decides, putting an arm around Lafayette’s shoulders. Maybe it won’t make a difference, but he isn’t going to stop showing his friends how much they mean to him. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after some rest.”

“Unless I have nightmares,” Lafayette reminds him, not quite succeeding at hiding his fear beneath his forcedly light tone.

Alexander smiles at him, warm and reassuring. “If you do have nightmares,” he promises, “Laurens will be right by your side and make it all better, ‘cause that’s what he does. Isn’t that right, Laurens?”

“Sure,” Laurens backs him up, though he’s looking at Alexander a little weird. “I’m with you, man. We’re going to get through this.”

There’s fondness in Lafayette’s exhausted eyes, and gratitude. “Thanks, guys. You’re the best.”

Alexander lets Lafayette and Laurens go while he stays behind to assess the damage to the Archive and argue with Angelica about paying for it. Although to be completely truthful, there isn’t as much arguing as he expected – with Jefferson standing right there, not even Angelica can pretend it’s all fine. It’s not that bad anyway, a dozen glasses and a couple plates were smashed but the stools and chairs are all intact, so Alexander can easily cover it.

“Thank you,” Angelica says as she puts away the money. “You didn’t have to.”

“Somebody did, though,” Jefferson points out, spiteful.

“And I was that somebody, so everyone’s happy, let’s move on,” Alexander cuts it short. He really has no time or patience for Jefferson right now. Or ever. He turns to Angelica. “You sure you’re going to be okay here?”

She nods. “Yeah, go take care of Laf. And let me know how he’s doing.”

“Will do,” Alexander promises.

He’s about to leave when Angelica’s voice calls him again. “Oh, I almost forgot. Eliza asked me about you.”

Alexander stops in his tracks. Thrilled and terrified at the same time. “She did? What did she say?”

“I think she’s ready to see people,” Angelica hazards. “She even talked about going back to work.”

“That’s great.”

“Mm-hm. You should call her.”

“I will,” Alexander promptly says. It’s going to be painful, learning to live with Eliza without Philip around, but he misses her more than he thought he would. It’s worth a try, at least.

He steps into the apartment just as Laurens is coming out of his room. Quiet as the grave – in addition to his usual enhanced PDS hearing, Lafayette has become the lightest of sleepers since coming back. At least he isn’t sleepwalking as much anymore.

“Everything good?” Alexander asks in a whisper.

Laurens nods. “More or less,” he replies just as quietly. “He’s out cold. Let’s hope it does him some good.”

He goes over to the fridge and opens himself a beer can. Alexander can’t help following him with his eyes, marveling at how at ease he looks walking around the kitchen island even after all these weeks of absence. This was always their place, Alexander realizes – Laurens’ and Lafayette’s and Mulligan’s, and as much as he’s tried, he could never stop thinking of himself as some sort of honorary guest. He remembers coming home to coffee and Laurens, though, and feeling closer to being home than he ever did.

“Laurens?” he asks, forgetting for a moment to keep his voice down.

“Yeah?”

Alexander chews on his lower lip, tries to stall, but he knows what he wants to say and he knows he needs to say it. “What I said at the funeral… You know I didn’t mean it, right? I was upset and you caught me off guard, but I… I’m glad you’re here.”

“Really?” Laurens asks, and it comes out in a single, disbelieving huff. “You don’t have to be, you know. What _I_ said, I meant it. You have every right to hate my guts.”

“Oh, I’m not…” Alexander starts, and stops. Why is it suddenly so hard for him to speak frankly? “I’m not saying you didn’t hurt me, or that I’m over it and we can be best friends again. I think that ship has probably sailed for good. But. I’m really glad you’re here. You’re incredible with Laf, and this place hasn’t been the same since you left.”

It’s Laurens’ turn to hesitate. “Look, about that…”

The door swings open, and Mulligan storms in with the desperate fury of a lioness preparing to fight for her cubs against impossible odds. It’s the sweetest, most terrifying sight.

“Where’s Laf?” he wants to know. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah, calm down, he’s _sleeping_.” Laurens hisses the last word, a not-so-subtle encouragement to lower his voice.

Mulligan catches the hint. “What happened?” he asks in a whisper. “I asked Angelica but she was in the middle of something, she just told me to catch up with you guys and you’d fill me in.”

“We don’t know exactly,” Alexander confesses. “We weren’t there when it started. And Angelica didn’t notice anything strange either. He just… freaked out all of a sudden. When I got to the Archive everyone had run away, and he was hiding under a table screaming that he wasn’t going back.”

“Jesus,” Mulligan murmurs, leaning against the kitchen counter for support. He’s seen Lafayette’s haunted expression after his nightmares, he’s been there for him when he first came back and even the ceiling above his head terrified him and every day since, but he still can’t seem to get used to this new, broken version of his friend. Nobody could.

Well, except for Laurens.

“We need to get more organized,” he decides. “What we’ve been doing until now, it’s just control damage. We’re not really helping him. Hell, you two don’t even know how to act around him.”

Alexander knows he doesn’t mean it as an accusation, but it sounds a little too much like one for his taste. “We’ve been doing our best,” he says, peeved, and it comes out way more defensive than he intended. “It might not be much, but I’m pretty sure it beats hiding miles away and picking up the phone only when it’s convenient for you.”

Mulligan’s grunt agrees with him.

To his credit, Laurens doesn’t get confrontational. He just runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Sorry, I know. I didn’t mean it like that, I’m mostly talking about myself here. _I_ should have done more for Lafayette. I should be doing more right now. Which is why I… kinda wanted to ask you if you’d let me move back in.”

“You want to do what?” Alexander blurts out, incredulous.

He always assumed when this happened… Well, truth be told, he never thought this would happen. Laurens was supposed to be gone for good. Alexander was supposed to be mad at him for a while, and then stop caring about him altogether. But this is happening, right now, and Alexander doesn’t think he’s feeling the way he should.

He should be calm and detached. Not care either way what Laurens does, ’cause Laurens isn’t his problem anymore. He’s clean, mostly respectful of other people’s space and the only one who knows how to deal with Lafayette when he goes berserk, so having him around wouldn’t be all that terrible. It’s okay if he decides to stay – but it’s not like Alexander should miss him or be overly upset if he leaves either. He really shouldn’t care.

Or, if it’s too soon for that, he should dread the idea of his ex moving back and all the uncomfortableness and vexation that’s going to cause. What he shouldn’t be feeling is pure joy and excitement. And yet.

“I think it’s time I go back to college,” Laurens reveals. “And I was planning to find myself an apartment somewhere else, leave your guys be, but with Laf doing this bad it might be better for me to come here. Help you out with him, you know. If you don’t mind,” he adds quickly, and his eyes are on Alexander as he says it.

_If you don’t mind_. Laurens broke his heart and, even worse, took his best friend away from him in the process. And let’s be real, he kinda treated Alexander like shit when he was around too. And now he expects Alexander to say it’s cool, they can all hang out together again? Fuck him, Alexander thinks, but can’t quite bring himself to feel it.

“What about your parents?” he asks, half out of genuine interest, half stalling. “Are they okay with your decision?”

“To go back to school? Yeah. They’re the ones who insisted I’ve already been away too long, actually.” He smiles to himself, a little bitter. “I guess ‘doctor’ wasn’t their top choice for my future career, but it definitely beats ‘personal driver to my own sister’.”

“And what about moving here?”

Laurens hesitates, and it’s all the answer Alexander needs. “I still haven’t mentioned it to them – I wanted to make sure it was alright with you guys first. But, well. They’re not going to be thrilled, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

He says it like he really believes it, and there’s something endearing about it. “Yeah?” Alexander asks, more to catch another little glimpse at his newfound optimism than anything.

“Yeah,” Laurens confirms. “And if we can’t, I can always find myself a job.”

“Now that’s something I’d like to see,” Alexander teases him.

Laurens laughs. “Fuck off. I’ve had jobs before.”

Alexander would love to keep joking around, but it feels dangerous. It’s too easy, too… right. As if nothing bad ever happened between them. And yes, he would be lying if he said he isn’t tempted to dive in, forget all of their terrible history, but the truth is that they do have a lot of terrible history and ignoring it would be a big mistake. You can’t erase the past, the most you can do is pretend it doesn’t exist until it comes bite you in the ass.

Laurens must be feeling a similar way, because he doesn’t push it either. “Anyway. All I’m saying is you don’t have to worry about me. I can figure it out, I just need to know if you’re okay with me coming back.”

It’s a terrible idea, Alexander is sure of it. He ought to say no. Why does he want so badly to say yes, then? And why isn’t Mulligan saying anything?

Come to think of it, he hasn’t said anything in a while. He’s just standing there, occasionally nodding, occasionally checking his phone, and it takes Alexander a second to realize he isn’t doing it because he doesn’t care, he’s doing it because he’s allowing Alexander to make the decision. It should be flattering, knowing his friend doesn’t want to upset him, that he’s giving him the power to turn Laurens away for good if he doesn’t feel like being around him, and it is a little, but mostly it’s just depressing. They used to be a gang, a family, and now it feels like Alexander stole Mulligan and Lafayette away from Laurens in the divorce. Even though the three of them had been friends long before they even met Alexander. It’s wrong, and awful, but that’s Alexander’s life now.

Well, he won’t stand for it. “Of course it’s okay,” he says, and immediately regrets it. Because there’s such adoration in Laurens’ eyes that Alexander can’t help feeling he’d do anything to keep him looking at him like that. And that’s a very dangerous line to walk. Still. “It’s the best thing for Lafayette, and he’s all that matters now.”

“Agreed,” Mulligan finally speaks. Alexander has no doubt that he would have said the same thing if Alexander had turned Laurens down. He kinda loves him for it. “We need you here. And it makes no sense for you to go through the trouble of looking for a new place when half of your stuff is already here.”

Laurens’ smile is wide and brilliant. “Thank you so much, guys. Really. This is super cool of you.” He tosses his empty beer can in the trash, relaxed and easy, and turns to face them. “Right. First point is dealt with, on to the second. We all need to start taking better care of Laf.”

Alexander and Mulligan exchange a look. “How do you suggest we do that?” asks the latter.

It only takes Laurens one second to think about it. Clearly he’s already given some thought to the issue. “Well, first things first, he needs a therapist. I’m not really qualified to help him through this alone, and besides, he should talk about what happened and how he feels to someone other than his friends. Someone unbiased, you know. Problem is he doesn’t seem too thrilled about the idea of seeing a doctor, not after what they did to him at the treatment center.”

“I’m on it,” Alexander offers. “I can convince him to go.”

Laurens’ look says he has no doubt about it. “Awesome. As for what _we_ can do, let’s try not to leave him alone too long – especially when he’s out. We saw today that anything can trigger a flashback, and if he learns to recognize the signals before it really starts we can help him prevent it. Grounding techniques based on the five senses like the one I used today can work miracles. Well, he’s PDS, so we can forget about touch and taste, but the others should be enough. Make him sniff something strong, like peppermint, or describe his surroundings. It’ll help him stay in touch with reality.”

“How about day-to-day stuff?” Mulligan inquires. “He’s so moody and unpredictable that I hardly know how to act around him anymore. The other day he snapped at me just ‘cause I closed the fridge a little too energetically.”

“You probably startled him,” Laurens explains. He seems to be enjoying this to some extent. Finally, he’s able to share all the medical crap he knows and Mulligan can’t complain about it. Not just that, he’s asking _questions_. Karma is a real bitch. “You have to understand that his brain keeps telling him he’s in a dangerous situation, so he’s constantly on edge.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Mulligan says. “So how are we supposed to deal with him?”

Laurens shrugs. “Try not to startle him again. Don’t get offended when he snaps at you, ‘cause chances are he didn’t mean to. Try not to get into any fights with him – if it’s something serious, explain yourselves calmly and try to emphasize how much it would mean to you if he listened. If not, don’t bother. Give him space when he needs it, but make sure he knows you’re available if he needs you. Talk about the treatment center with him if he wants to, but don’t force the conversation on him.”

He sounds like he’s repeated the spiel more than a few times. “Are you quoting a textbook or something?” Alexander wonders.

Laurens smiles. “Or something. They’re the guidelines they gave us when I volunteered at the hospital back home during the Rising. The patients who were doing better, most of them were suffering from PTSD.” The smile is suddenly gone, his eyes looking at some distant horror for a moment. Then he shakes himself and concludes: “And I had to give the speech to all the newbies that came to help after me, so it’s pretty internalized at this point.”

“Thank god, I may add,” Mulligan comments. “Who knew your nerdiness would actually come in handy.”

“See, I told you this day would come.”

“And it can’t pass too soon.”

“Are we done here?” Alexander interrupts them, because he knows painfully well how long his friends can go on when they start their banter. “I know this is important, and you know I could spend hours watching you guys bicker, but I have kind of an early morning tomorrow.”

“Of course you do,” Laurens says, and for some reason it sounds fond instead of mocking. “Yeah, I think it’s enough for now. I wanted us to sit together and figure out a schedule to look after Lafayette, but I can’t really tell you when I’m available until I find out whether I have to look for a job so it’ll have to wait.”

Mulligan snorts. “Jeez, I had forgotten how anal you are.”

Laurens smirks. “You don’t know the half of it, my friend.”

“Ugh, come on. That was too easy.”

"Yup, that’s me. Easy. Ask around.”

“Awesome, family meeting adjourned,” Alexander cuts Mulligan off before he has to hear another cheesy comeback. “Good work, everyone, let’s keep it up. Have a terrific night.”

With that, he turns on his heels and retreats to his room before Laurens and Mulligan drag him into their pointless argument. Or worse, he does something stupid like admit out loud that for the first time in months, he feels at home again.


	35. In which Alexander needs rescuing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah, I knew I spoke too soon – sorry for missing last week's update, work has been crazier than I anticipated ^^' Hope this extra long chapter makes up for it. As usual, I'm super grateful for your patience and comments ;]

Alexander has never been inside Angelica’s apartment before. He might have fantasized about it a few times – back when he’d just moved back to New York and she was the brilliant, beautiful bartender he was trying to sweep off her feet, and even later, when they’d settled into an easy friendship and it drove him crazy how private she still was. Her official excuse was that her place is nothing special, and her friends are always at the Archive anyway, she doesn’t need them nagging her in her apartment too, but Alexander couldn’t help wondering what she has in there that she doesn’t want anyone to see.

So it’s with a little disappointment that he finds out she never lied. The place really is nothing special – only slightly bigger than Alexander’s at 3B, and lacking the distinctive charm you get when you take four very different guys and cram them together in such a small space. It reminds Alexander of Burr’s, actually, all practicality and not much of a personality. And while that was expected of Burr, it seems to clash with Angelica’s exuberant persona.

When Alexander points it out, she shrugs. “I told you, this is just the place I sleep. The bar is my home.” She knocks on the door to her room, then, and announces: “Eliza? Your guest is here.”

Before she’s even finished talking, Eliza appears in the doorway. She’s wearing a simple black and gray dress. The cut is nice, but the dull colors look so wrong on her that Alexander has to blink a few times to get used to it and she ends up greeting him first.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Alexander replies, and for once he doesn’t know what to say next. He brought her flowers, a colorful bundle that looks incredibly out of place next to Angelica’s sleek furniture and Eliza’s mournful dress. It’s been a minute and already it feels he’s getting it all wrong.

Still, Eliza accepts the gift with gratitude, and looking for a place to put it gives them a moment of respite from the awkwardness.

“I should go,” Angelica says as soon as the flowers are safely placed inside a tall glass vase with some water on the bottom. As if that’s going to make them last. “I’m working the night shift today, but Jefferson wants to meet an hour earlier and discuss ‘ _safety procedures’_.” The air quotes are perfectly audible.

“How’s it looking?” Alexander asks, even though he’s afraid he already knows.

“Bad,” Angelica confirms his suspicion, and then she’s out of the door, leaving Alexander and Eliza alone with the ghost of Philip and their grief and broken relationship.

_Sorry for waiting so long to come visit you_ , Alexander wants to say, but it makes no sense. He came as soon as Eliza allowed him to.

“Sorry for waiting so long to call you,” Eliza says, sitting down on Angelica’s black leather couch. She waits for Alexander to do the same before adding: “I wasn’t really ready to talk. With you, or anyone else.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t mention it.” He clears his throat. “So are you feeling better now?”

She nods. “Mm-hm. A little.”

“Good.”

“Thank you.”

Silence stretches between them as Alexander carefully considers what topics could be safe to discuss. Is he allowed to mention Philip? Or to bring up the fact that Eliza hasn’t left Angelica’s apartment since his funeral? Probably not. And what about Laf? Does Alexander really want to gossip about him just to avoid addressing the elephant in the room?

Oh, to hell with it all.

“I dreamt of him a few nights ago,” he blurts out. Eliza fixes her eyes on him, deep, dark pools of sorrow, but Alexander thinks he sees something else there, something longing, and anyway she doesn’t ask him to stop, so he carries on. “It was all three of us, actually. God, I can’t believe I… I had forgotten all about it when I woke up, I’m only remembering now. We were all together again and we were in your car, but I was the one driving it for some reason. We were taking Philip to see the birthplace of some famous author, or maybe to listen to an orchestra play, I’m not sure. It was something artsy, though, and a little pretentious, just the way he’d like it. But we kept telling him we were going to Disneyland, ‘cause he was just a kid and surely he would get bored listening to a bunch of guys from Switzerland playing classical music for three hours straight. And he knew we were just teasing him but he played along and acted all offended.” There are tears in Eliza’s eyes and the deepest love in her smile, and Alexander can feel them in his voice, too, as he concludes: “We were a family. And we were happy.”

“God, Alexander,” Eliza says, and she starts crying into his shoulder. He doesn’t regret telling her about the dream, though, and he doesn’t think she wishes she hadn’t heard it, either.

He holds her, stroking her hair until she calms down and wishing he could cry with her.

It’s a long, quiet moment before Eliza pulls away. “Sorry,” she apologizes.

“Don’t be,” Alexander says, stroking her shoulder with his thumb. “I’m a mess too. It just looks like I’m not because I’m PDS.” He points at his own eyes. “No tears.”

She smiles weakly at him and shakes her head. “I know, I…” She leans back against the couch, her eyes looking in front of them rather than at Alexander. “Did you really want that?” she wonders. “For the three of us to be a family? Because sometimes I was convinced you did, but you never made a move, not even when Laurens was gone. And that was very unlike you.”

“Yeah,” Alexander agrees.

He looks at Eliza as he considers her question. He remembers how just a couple weeks ago he thought they were headed somewhere. How he wanted to kiss her, not in the dangerous, forbidden way he’d wanted to kiss Maria that first time, or the completely overwhelmed way he’d wanted to kiss Laurens, or even the full-of-possibility, meant-to-be way he’d wanted to kiss Angelica. He never wondered how Eliza would taste, or even how she might react. It was a fairytale kiss, the kind that ends the moment it starts, and Alexander didn’t doubt for a second that it would lead to a happy ending, all he had to figure out was whether he was ready for it.

He feels like a complete jackass.

“I wanted that,” he finally admits. That’s not the whole truth, though. “I wanted that… and nothing else.”

Eliza frowns just a little at that answer, a silent request for an explanation, and she looks so pretty, but not in a way that makes Alexander feel they’re destined to ever be anything more than friends.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because that seems like a good way to start. “I loved Philip, and I loved looking after him and spending time with you. And, you know… it was easy getting a little lost into the fantasy. Thinking that that was it, that was what a happy family was supposed to be like. But that was incredibly naive of me. I was only there a couple times a week, of course it looked perfect. I wasn’t there for the hard times. I never had to scold Philip for anything. And I didn’t have to argue about him with you, because he was your kid and it was your job to raise him.”

He kinda wants to stop talking, because he sounds like the worst asshole ever to his own ears so he can only imagine what Eliza must be thinking. There’s a bigger part of him that wants to keep going, though, to finally sort out his feelings once and for all.

“So yeah. You’re fantastic, truly, and I do love you in a way, but I think I was more caught up in the fantasy of having some sort of family than really into you, you know? And I'm sorry it took me so long to realize it, because it wasn't fair to you at all."

Eliza shrugs. It would make anyone else look like they don’t care about what Alexander is saying, but with her the gesture is full of forgiveness and understanding. “It’s okay, it’s not like you ever asked me out. And I know where you’re coming from.”

“Really?” Alexander asks, hopeful. Eliza might be a little too forgiving, but if she tells him he’s not horrible, he’s going to believe her.

“Yes. Actually, I might have added to your confusion. Remember how I asked you dating advice and never followed it?”

“Wasn’t sure you didn’t follow it, but yes,” Alexander confirms.

Eliza purses her lips. “I didn’t. Truth be told, I didn’t think it was fair to Philip – springing a stranger on him and expecting him to like him just because I did. It felt selfish. But, well… we both know he already liked you. And I thought maybe, just maybe, if you and I could grow to be more than friends it could all work out.”

Alexander remembers sitting on the couch in Eliza’s living room, Philip hiding his face in a throw pillow because he was too embarrassed to look him in the eye. It feels like a long time ago, already a perfect memory. “He thought that too,” he tells Eliza with a wistful smile. “He told me once that he wanted us to fall in love so we could all be a family.”

There are more tears in Eliza’s eyes, but she’s smiling, too, and it’s not all sad. “We were a good team,” she declares.

“The best,” Alexander agrees, and holds her again.

Eliza closes her eyes, and for a long time they’re silent again. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable this time, though. Philip might not be the first person Alexander is mourning, but he’s the first he’s not mourning alone. He decides that losing someone sucks slightly less if someone is there to share your pain.

“The flowers are so pretty,” Eliza eventually says, her eyes resting on the glass vase. “Did you leave some on Philip’s grave, too, this morning?”

“I did,” Alexander confirms in a whisper. “You saw them?”

She hums in confirmation. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay. I like to visit him.”

“Me too,” Eliza agrees. “I try to be there every other day. And I talk to him. I know it sounds stupid, but it helps.”

Alexander turns his head to look at her. “I don’t think it’s stupid. I do that too – actually, I only go there when I have good news to bring him.”

Eliza still isn’t looking at him, her eyes lost somewhere else, but she smiles at that. “That’s sweet. What good news did you have today?”

“That I was going to visit his mom,” Alexander recounts, “and that his grandparents and Dolly and I are building a pretty solid case against the monster that shot him.”

“Right. My parents are pressing charges.”

Her slightly disapproving tone isn’t lost on Alexander. He frowns, shifting so that she has to look at him. “You don’t think Eacker deserves to pay for what he did?”

“I…” she starts, and stops. “I don’t know what he deserves,” she decides in the end. “I just wish they didn’t have to drag this out. I mean, how many people have you talked to? How many times have you had to relive Philip’s death?”

It’s Alexander’s turn to look away. The answer is, more than he could stand.

He doesn’t have to say it out loud, though. Eliza has already understood. “Yeah,” she says. “And for what? So that we can get our revenge on a guy who was probably just scared and inexperienced and made a mistake?”

“That’s no excuse,” Alexander argues, maybe a little too quickly. “Mistake or no, Philip is dead because of him. He deserves justice.”

Eliza shakes her head. “What Philip deserved,” she states, slow and clear, “was not to die in a car crash when he was eight. But he did. I know you’re a lawyer, it’s what you do, but I don’t really believe in justice. Only in acting as best as we can.”

“So you’d let him walk free? The guy who was either so pulsist or so incompetent that he shot your son? And what if he hurts someone else? Worse, what if all his colleagues start thinking that if he got away with this, they can get away with killing PDS people just because they feel like it?”

“You’re fighting a war,” Eliza says, and she doesn’t sound as reproaching as Alexander thought she would. To the contrary, she sounds almost admiring. “I get it. You can’t look at a single battle without thinking of the bigger picture. How it will affect everything else. But try to put yourself in my shoes. I just lost my son. I don’t have the energy to fight any battles right now, especially not one that will keep reminding me of what happened to Philip. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

There’s a lot of things Alexander could retort. That he lost Philip too, and he would love to be able to get away from it all, but he _can’t_. Because right as Eliza is taking her time off from the war, the enemy is planning and advancing. That he too wishes he had the luxury to decide he’s too tired to go on, but he isn’t like Eliza. He isn’t alive. He’s never, ever getting a break, because the living aren’t allowing him to. Ask Eacker and his trigger-happy finger. Ask Jefferson and his segregation policies. If Alexander stops fighting, if he allows himself just one moment of respite, they’re going to crush him.

He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says: “Okay. What do you want to do now, then?”

Eliza thinks about it, and for a second Alexander sees Philip’s features in hers, scrunched up in concentration.

“Will you help me look for a new apartment?” she asks a moment later. “I bet you’re great at this kind of stuff.”

Alexander wouldn’t know about that, but he’s learned that it rarely helps to correct someone who has a high opinion of you, misplaced as that might be. They can always change their mind when you prove them wrong, and if you don’t, you’ll have saved them the embarrassment of looking like an ass-kisser and yourself the pretentiousness of giving off an impression of false modesty.

Besides, it turns out that Eliza’s instincts were right, because when Alexander leaves Angelica’s apartment almost two hours later they’ve already found three or four places that really seem worth checking out. It helps that Eliza doesn’t have to worry too much about prices, not after she sells her old apartment.

Alexander knows he has no say on the matter, but he wishes she weren’t in such a rush to move. He understands every corner of the old place is imbued with memories of Philip, and it must be painful for Eliza to even think about going back at the moment – Alexander himself has only been there once after the shooting, and he was barely able to keep it together. But that’s exactly why she should wait. Who’s to say that one day, when the wound of Philip’s death has scarred, she doesn’t regret selling away a place that’s so full of her history?

When he mentioned it to Eliza, though, she shrugged it off, told him that she’s not going to make her suffering even worse today just because there’s a slight improbable chance she might have second thoughts tomorrow. Alexander considered making an offer himself for a brief moment, right before remembering that even with the regular salary he makes at the firm it would take him years to pay. And really, he has no use for a place where one of his best friends wouldn’t set foot because it could break her heart.

He’s still thinking about the apartment, and how good it was to spend time with Eliza in spite of the circumstances, and how achingly he wishes he’d just said goodbye to Philip too on his way out, when some guy shoulder-checks him out of the blue.

“Hey!” Alexander calls after him, ‘cause he’s never been one to turn the other cheek. “Watch where you’re walking, asshole.”

The guy (a living, unsurprisingly) ignores him. He keeps walking a few feet ahead at a suspiciously leisurely pace for someone who seemed in such a rush when he crashed into Alexander’s shoulder without so much as a second glance five seconds ago. Someone else comes up from behind him, though – a second guy, a little bulkier and very evidently going to the same gym.

He grabs Alexander’s arm, tight. It would definitely hurt if Alexander was alive, and even as it is, he can feel the other guy’s strength in the way he completely immobilizes his arm.

“Don’t you talk to my friend like that,” he snarls, so close to Alexander’s face that his breath tickles his nose. Well, figuratively. It stinks of warmth and humidity, like a dog’s. “He can walk wherever he wants. He can walk all over you, corpse. You’re supposed to be in a grave anyway.”

They’ve caught up with the first guy, and three more have joined them, crowding Alexander. One of them is holding a crowbar. Now, Alexander is not one to run from a fight, but even he can recognize that his chances of coming out of this in one piece are not looking good.

“Come on, guys, you don’t want to do this,” he tries to talk his way out of it. “The night’s still young. There’s strangers to meet. Alcohol to be drunk. Do you really want to waste your time picking a fight with a random guy you don’t even know?”

“Oh, we know you,” says the tough guy that’s holding him still. Looks like he’s the official spokesperson of the gang. “We saw the video. You’re that lawyer guy that defends corpses like yourself in court.”

“Like zombies deserve anything better than a bullet between their eyes,” one of his buddies chimes in. Alexander has heard about two dozens variations of this particular threat and laughed at all of them, but it somehow sounds more menacing when you’re surrounded by a bunch of crowbar-wielding psychopaths.

“Look, why don’t we all sit down for a drink, my treat, I’m sure I can explain you how…”

The first punch knocks the wind right out of him.

“We don’t ‘sit down for a drink’ with _corpses_ ,” his attacker taunts him.

In the fog of shock and anger and fear, Alexander realizes one thing: this must be the first time these posers do something like this. Not get into a fight – if the way they sneaked up on Alexander and the violent precision of the guy’s fist are any indication, they’re pros on that front. It’s obvious they’ve never tried to beat up another PDS sufferer before, though. In a fight between the living, a punch like the one Alexander got is supposed to give the thrower a moment of glory as whoever’s on the receiving end tries to get adjusted to the sudden burst of pain enough to fight back. That’s why Alexander’s attacker is talking instead of hitting him again – adding insult to the injury as he waits for him to regroup enough to _really_ feel the next blow.

Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t work that way with Alexander. When you hit someone PDS, they might be caught by surprise, or terrified, or humiliated. What they are never going to be, though, is in pain.

So Alexander takes advantage of that little moment where all of his assailants let their guard down to knee his captor in the nuts, hard enough that he lets him go with a yelp, and make a run for it.

He doesn’t get as much of a head start as he’d like, but he can easily outrun the living and he’s close to home anyway. For once, though, he wishes he lived in a less disreputable part of the neighborhood – there’s no one on the streets at this time of the evening, and even if there were, they’re more likely to cross sidewalks and try to keep away from all this gang trouble than come to his rescue.

Alexander doesn’t have to glance behind his shoulders to know his assailants are still chasing him. He probably wouldn’t need to even if he weren’t PDS. They’re _loud_. This is exciting to them – him running away. It’s only going to make it so much sweeter when they finally catch him and bash his head in. Alexander knows, because it used to be him. How did it go from hunter to prey?

He considers seeking refuge at the Archive, but it’s a couple minutes farther than the apartment and his attackers are drawing dangerously close. He might have overestimated his odds just a little. It is true that as an undead he tires way less quickly, but it isn’t so much a matter of resistance here as much as speed. And with their perfectly working junctures and sturdy build, his living pursuers are probably better suited for that kind of race.

Alexander finally reaches the front door, keys in hand, slips them in the lock, pushes the door open… And is dragged away before he can step inside.

“ _NO!_ ” he yells, kicking and screaming in his captor’s arms. “ _LET ME GO!_ ”

He gets thrown to the ground with such force that he almost remembers what pain feels like for a moment. White flashes before his eyes. Then they’re all on him, kicking him, stomping on him, spitting on him. One guy unzips his pants and pisses all over his chest, his neck, his face. The others laugh. They’re playing with him, having fun degrading him until they get bored and take him out. Burr is going to come home and find him like this, wet and dirty, his brains spilled all over the front stairs. He’ll probably be more upset at the mess than at Alexander’s fate.

Alexander thinks back to what Washington told him months ago. _Imagine a PDS lawyer taking the stand to defend PDS people. Do you think they would let him live it down?_ For a split second he wishes he’d listened to his advice and lay low, and it’s more humiliating than anything his aggressors could ever do to him.

It can’t be more than a couple minutes before he’s pulled on his feet by his hair, but he felt like he died a hundred times in that time. He wonders whether it means that they’re going to kill him or simply that they’ve come up with some new torture. He isn’t sure which fate would be worse at this point.

A shot rings out before he gets to find out.

“Get away from him!” Mulligan. That’s Mulligan, but he sounds so far away… “You hear me? _GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM_. Fucking…”

He trails off, or maybe it’s Alexander that blacked out for a second. He might not be in physical pain, but it’s hard to focus on anything other than his own terror and helplessness. Besides, his head feels all woozy after all the hits it’s taken. 

“I’m going to come check on him, and you better be far away when I come down or I’m going to KILL YOU ALL, YOU GET IT? I’M FUCKING SERIOUS!”

Alexander hears the words without really registering what they mean. All he knows is that all of a sudden the commotion around him dies down and he’s alone. He blinks a few times, until the concrete he’s lying on stops looking so shiny and grainy. With some difficulty, he pulls himself to his knees. He starts retching, no food coming up because he hasn’t had any in a while. He wishes he could throw up this feeling of _wrongness_ that’s seizing his whole body.

He hears someone approach and jumps to his feet – or the closest thing he can manage, at least. He’s faintly aware of how pitiful he must look, all battered and bruised, covered in body fluids, unsteady on his own feet. He’s also aware that he has slightly better chances at fighting than at fleeing at this point, though. He bares his teeth, fear and instinct awakening the predator inside him.

There’s no need, though.

“Hey, easy there.” Mulligan takes a step back, raising his hands to show him he’s not a threat. “Hamilton, Hams, it’s me. I’m so sorry. Shit. It’s me.” His voice is shaky, now, and it takes all the fight away from Alexander. Of course. The guy standing in front of him is the farthest thing from an enemy. “How are you feeling? Do you know who I am?”

Alexander nods. “Mulligan,” he confirms. Everything – talking, standing, _everything_ – seems to be taking so much more effort than usual. 

His friend nods too, relieved. “That’s right. It’s going to be okay.” He looks around, looking a little lost himself for a moment. Then he asks: “Can you… You think you can sit here on the steps while I call an ambulance?”

Alexander closes his eyes, fighting another bout of nausea.

“No, please. No hospital,” he manages.

He’s suddenly grateful it was Mulligan who heard the commotion and came to his rescue. Laurens and Lafayette wouldn’t leave him alone without putting up a fight, but he only hesitates a moment before nodding. “Okay. Sure, whatever you want.” He bites his lip. “Where to, then? Your room? You need some rest? You know what, Laurens went to the library with Laf but maybe they’re done by now. I’m going to call him.”

Before Alexander can protest, before Mulligan can even take his cellphone out, Laurens’ voice says: “No need. What’s…” His voice dies in his throat. One second later, he’s right by Alexander’s side. “Fuck. _Fuck_. Who did this to you?”

“Are you okay? What happened?” Lafayette asks at the same time, voice much softer than Laurens’ terrified growl. As if he were afraid Alexander might literally crumble before his eyes if he spoke too loud. _That’s_ how pitiful he looks, then.

Just thinking about relating the events of the last hour, or fifteen minutes, however long it all lasted, feels unbearable to Alexander. He just wants to get cleaned up and lie in bed for the next century or so.

“He was attacked,” Mulligan explains for him. Alexander has never loved him more. “Five guys, at least one of them armed.”

Lafayette gasps in shock and rests a comforting hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “ _C’est bien, mon cher_. We’re here now.”

Laurens’ expression hardens. “How long ago?”

“I don’t know, just now. Three minutes ago?”

“Did you see where they went?”

It takes Alexander a few seconds to understand why Laurens is asking so many questions. His brain is still sluggish, as if his thoughts had to push their way through deep, deep snow in order to come together and start making sense. He does get it in the end, though, and the realization scares him more than the assault did.

“No,” he states with more vehemence than he thought he possessed at this moment. He surprises everyone else too, apparently, because they all turn to look at him. “Didn’t you hear what Mulligan said? It’s five against one. They’ll kill you.”

“They don’t get to do this,” Laurens protests. His voice is shaking with anger and fear and something dangerously close to love. “They don’t get to hurt you and get away with it. Not if I have any saying in it.”

“Laurens…” Alexander murmurs, and there’s a lot more he wants to say but he’s feeling too shitty too do it. He wants to go with Laurens, get his own revenge on the pulsists that thought they had the right to do this to him. He wants to talk Laurens out of it, convince him to just go home and forget about the whole thing. He knows he wouldn’t like Laurens half as much if he let him.

“Where did they go?” Laurens asks again. Clearly there is nothing else he feels they need to discuss.

Mulligan shakes his head. “No, Hams is right, you can’t possibly hope to…”

Laurens doesn’t even let him finish. He mutters a, “Whatever, I’ll find them myself”, and walks away.

“Idiot,” Mulligan says through clenched teeth.

Alexander’s head agrees with him even as his blood sides with Laurens, indomitable and idealistic and daring.

“I’ll go with him,” Lafayette decides. “Make sure he doesn’t get himself hurt too badly.”

He gets Mulligan’s blessing, and just like that it’s back to only Alexander and Mulligan again.

“Well, thank god we have a med student friend to help us in situations like these,” the latter sighs, sarcastic and exasperated at the same time.

Alexander rewards him with a feeble smile. “I need to get cleaned up,” he decides. He doesn’t need a doctor to tell him that. Until he washes the spit and piss and dirt off his skin, until he changes into some fresh clothes, he won’t feel like his attackers ever left.

“Okay,” Mulligan agrees. “Think you could let me help you?”

Truth be told, Alexander couldn’t probably do this without help. He leans against Mulligan and lets him escort him to the third floor bathroom – there’s one on the first floor, too, but they don’t have a key for it because Burr is a paranoid nazi. It’s okay, though, Alexander can manage, and he’d rather be in a familiar environment anyway. The only thing he really can’t stand is to spend more than a minute in total silence.

“Thank you,” he mutters.

Mulligan smiles weakly at him. “Don’t mention it. Pretty sure I still owe you for all the times you dragged Laurens’ drunk ass up these stairs so Laf and I could stay out longer.”

“True,” Alexander says, because he’s too tired to tell him half the times that happened it was all a ploy to leave early and take advantage of the empty apartment. And really, even so he did do his fair share of ass-dragging.

He closes his eyes. Everything seems to be spinning around him, and he trusts Mulligan to guide him safely to the destination. Mulligan is awesome enough to do that. He just saved him from those guys, after all.

How the hell did he do it? They were five against two.

“Do I want to know where you got a gun?” Alexander asks, remembering the shot he heard right before Mulligan’s voice.

“Don’t worry, it’s all perfectly legal,” his friend tries to reassure him.

It doesn’t help that much, but Alexander is feeling nauseous again and he can’t muster up the energy to keep interrogating him about it. Mulligan’s explanation will have to do for now.

It takes them forever to get to the bathroom, although it probably feels longer to Alexander than to Mulligan. Taking a single step can seem like an interminable effort if your head and body are mostly disconnected from each other.

Mulligan helps him get in the shower, still fully clothed, but by that point Alexander’s brain has caught up with the events of the last hour and he’s shaking too hard to stand. He ends up sitting on the shower floor, water spraying down on him and Mulligan fretting.

“I’m going to help you undress,” he decides. His voice might be a little hesitant, but it’s definitely not a question. Alexander thought it would freak him out, someone else trying to take control for him so soon after what happened, but it’s actually reassuring. It’s not just him against the world now, Mulligan is with him, and he’s going to do everything he can to make him better.

With his friend’s help, he gets out of his soaked shirt and drenched jeans and sits under the spray in just his boxers. Mulligan turns around to give him some privacy, but to Alexander’s unwitting relief, he doesn’t leave him alone.

Alexander closes his eyes. Tries to tune out the taunts and grunts and sneering laughter of his aggressors and focus instead on the steady, all-encompassing sound of the water gently falling on his head, his shoulders, his chest. He’s torn between wishing he could feel the chilly, comforting slide of the stream down his skin and the fear that if his senses awake right now, he’s going to be in a world of pain.

“You think Laurens and Laf are going to be okay?” he asks Mulligan, and immediately regrets it. He doesn’t want the truth, he wants empty reassurance, and Mulligan is more likely to provide the former. Then again, would he have let them go if he’d thought they might come back as battered and bruised as Alexander? Possibly worse?

Mulligan snorts. “They better. I’m not playing nurse to all three of you hotheads.”

“Hey, I didn’t go looking for trouble this time!” Alexander protests, still a little feebly. “They came after me.”

“Any idea why?”

Alexander raises an eyebrow, but Mulligan is still looking at the ceiling rather than at him so the small gesture is lost on him. “Why’d you think?” he asks, desolate.

This grabs Mulligan’s attention enough to make him turn to Alexander. “What, because you’re PDS? They beat up a stranger in the middle of the street just because he was PDS?” His voice isn’t disbelieving, it’s appalled.

“Pretty much,” Alexander confirms. He knows there was more to it, though, so he adds: “They said they recognized me. From the Reynolds trial.”

It takes Mulligan a couple of seconds to realize the implications. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You still going after Eacker?”

“What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I am. I’ve never let smart people stop me, I’m sure as hell not going to be intimidated by a bunch of grunts that get all their news from pulsist Facebook rants.”

As usual, Alexander realizes one second too late that it’s not a very nice reply, especially not after everything Mulligan has done for him today. Either he looks too pathetic or his exhausted voice took most of the sting out of the words, anyway, because Mulligan doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t even look offended.

He smiles, and it shines with pride. “Good answer. Just, be careful out there.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Short afterwards, Mulligan asks Alexander if he’s okay to be on his own while he fetches him a change of clothes. Alexander isn’t sure, but it’s as good a time as any to find out. He breathes in deeply as he waits for Mulligan to come back, trying to muster up the bravado he feigned in front of his friend.

He thinks of Laurens, of how quickly he jumped on the chance to get into some trouble, and feels a hundred years old. He wasn’t lying when he told Mulligan he isn’t going to be bullied into silence, but he realizes now that it wasn’t the whole truth. The truth is this: he is tired of fighting. It used to be a game, a drug, a reason to be back from the dead. Now it’s just necessity. Something he’ll keep doing, but only because it’s the right thing, not because he enjoys it.

He turns off the water spray and sits there, eyes closed, wondering whether it means he’s becoming wiser or softer.

Before he can figure it out, Mulligan shows up with clean clothes, a towel, and a silent question in his eyes.

“Thanks. I can manage,” Alexander reassures him, standing up.

Mulligan nods and turns around. Relieved. He might not have hesitated to jump to his rescue when Alexander needed him, but he’s clearly out of his depth with this first-aid, hand-holding shit. He’s probably mentally cursing Laurens for running off to look for trouble and saddling him with the more delicate task.

For a brief, traitorous moment Alexander wishes Laurens were here to take care of him, too.

As if he were reading his mind, Mulligan announces: “They’re back.”

Alexander breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank god. So they’re okay, yeah?”

“Mm-hm. Yeah.”

“Mulligan? Is something wrong?”

“Laurens got himself another black eye,” he confesses. “But yeah, nothing serious. They’re okay.”

“Idiot,” Alexander says, but it doesn’t sound half as heartfelt as when Mulligan said it earlier.

Mostly, he’s just grateful his friends got back in one piece. The guys that attacked Alexander weren’t messing around, they were out to break bones and spirits and perfectly prepared to waste him as soon as they were done having their fun, so it feels like a small miracle that Laurens and Lafayette went after them and barely have any bruises to show for it. Unless those pulsists refrained from going too hard on a fellow living?

“Oh, no,” Lafayette reassures him when they’re all in the living room and Alexander asks how they’re still looking so lively. “We could not find the guys that hurt you, but we ran into some dude who saw the whole thing and did nothing and Laurens decided that was close enough.”

Yep, that sounds like Laurens. It sounds like Alexander, too, if the circumstances had been just a little different, so why is he so annoyed at his friend?

“Of course he did,” he snorts. “Thanks for the help, by the way. I think now would be the time for you to consider a change of career.”

Laurens looks at him and frowns, confused. An ice pack is pressed to his cheekbone. “What do you mean?”

The fact that he doesn’t even get it makes Alexander even more mad. Because it’s always the same with him – poor socially challenged Laurens, he doesn’t mean to be an asshole, he’s just always on a different page than everyone around him. Or rather, the number of the page is right, but he’s reading from his own book, and he doesn’t give a shit how frustrating it is for everyone else to try and help him catch up.

“I mean,” Alexander says through gritted teeth, but it’s no use, his anger still finds a way to seep out and condense in a dark fog all around him, “that I got beaten within an inch of my life and you’re supposed to be a doctor, sort of, yet when you saw how bad I was doing your first instinct wasn’t, ‘Let’s use my medical skills to help my friend’, no, you just left me there to go look for more trouble. Very sensible of you. Very humanitarian.”

Laurens doesn’t look irritated or contrite, and that, too, makes Alexander more mad. He doubts he’s calming down any time soon.

“Come on, man, you were with Mulligan. I trusted him to be able to put you on an ambulance” is Laurens’ excuse. Then he adds, in a lower voice: “Guess I was wrong about that.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Mulligan asks, affronted. “You wanna say that to my face?”

“Guys, come on, don’t fight,” Lafayette tries to be the pacifier.

It doesn’t work.

“I’m just saying, you find someone lying on the pavement looking like Hams did, you don’t think about it too much. You call an ambulance and let _them_ decide how well he’s doing.”

“He wanted to call,” Alexander jumps to Mulligan’s defense. “You’d know it if you’d been there, instead of trying to get beaten up by strangers. I’m the one who asked him not to.”

Laurens shakes his head. Looks like he’s finally getting a little riled up too. “Oh, oh, so you wanted me to be all concerned about what happened to you when you didn’t even think it was worth going to a hospital for? Am I the only one who sees how insane this is?”

He looks at Lafayette for support, but he shakes his head. “ _Desolé_ , Johnny, I’m not taking any sides.”

“Coward,” Laurens huffs, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You know what, fine,” Lafayette accepts the challenge. “I am going to say this one thing – I don’t think that’s insane at all. Hospitals can very easily trigger some bad stuff for us, and you’re… well, you’re family. We trust you.”

Alexander is about to protest, but before he even opens his mouth he realizes he’d only be doing it for the sake of it. Lafayette is right, Alexander was hurt and scared and he needed Laurens there with him because he trusts him more than any doctor with a fancy degree and lifelong experience and no idea how PDS people _work_. He needed his friend. And that, that’s why he’s so mad at him – because no matter how much he wants to believe he doesn’t, he still needs Laurens in his life. It kinda sucks, but it’s the truth, so he might as well start believing it.

Damn Lafayette and his unexpected moments of wisdom.

“It’s true,” Alexander admits, and he has to fix his eyes on Lafayette because he feels too naked to look at Laurens. “Fuck, it’s true. You’re right, Laurens, I should have gone to the hospital, but I didn’t want to be alone with the doctors and… I guess I wanted you to be there so you could tell me I’d be okay anyway. I wanted to use you as an excuse not to go. We all seem to do that a little too often.”

He looks meaningfully at Lafayette, who still refuses to see a therapist and needs Laurens to ground him after his nightmares every other night, and Lafayette purses his lips and looks away. At least he understood. It might take a while, but Alexander is going to convince him to get professional help if it’s the last thing he does.

Everyone else must be having some kind of epiphanies of their own, because it’s quiet for a while and even after that nobody seems to be in the mood to fight anymore. They talk about finals, and how Eliza and Angelica are doing, and what they’re all going to do in the summer, and they don’t talk about how much they missed this and love each other any more but it’s mostly because they don’t need to. It’s clear in every look they share, every laugh, every inside joke.

Later, when Alexander has left the others to their sleepover and retreated to his own bed, he lies with his eyes to the ceiling and thinks about how strange this thing between the four of them is. How incredible and glorious. It feels like they’ve been apart for a lifetime, yet it took them no time at all to fall back into their easy routine. Even with everything that happened to Lafayette, and everything that didn’t happen between Alexander and Laurens. Even with how much Mulligan and Laurens fight. They’re still here. They’re unbreakable.

There’s a gentle rapping on the door.

“Mulls, like it or not this is your room now, you don’t have to…” Alexander starts. It’s not Mulligan that comes in, though, it’s Laurens.

With a steaming mug in his hand. Alexander’s favorite version of him.

“May I interest you in a small peace offering?” he asks, strangely bashful.

“You didn’t have to. I’m too tired to remember what you did,” Alexander says, but he accepts the mug and takes a grateful sip. “Your peace offering is tea? How unpatriotic of you.”

Laurens’ smile is tiny, but it’s there. “Technically, it’s herbal tea.”

“Mm. I’ll allow it,” Alexander concedes. He drinks some more before patting the spot next to him on the mattress. “It’s safe to sit, you know. My hands are occupied anyway.”

Hesitantly, Laurens obliges. “So how is it?”

“The tea?”

“Yeah. I came up with the recipe when I was at home – in Charleston, I mean – and I didn’t have anyone PDS to ask for a second opinion. Well, I did serve it to the guys at the PDS shelter once or twice, but those poor bastards never eat anything, they’d have been grateful if I’d fed them Angelica’s cheddar sandwiches.”

He’s pretty much blabbering at this point, and while Alexander isn’t a stranger to his nervous chattering, it feels a little unsettling. It’s been ages since he has seen Laurens like this.

“Are you okay?” he inquires.

“Sure,” Laurens replies immediately. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, you seem a little…” He clicks his tongue, searching for the right word, before finishing somewhat lamely, “Off.”

Laurens sighs, running a hand through his hair, and he looks like himself again. The way Alexander remembers him best, anyway. Blunt and guarded at the same time. “Yeah. Sorry. This is weird.”

“Being back in this room together?” Alexander suggests, because if that’s the case, he knows how his friend feels.

Laurens nods. “That, and you… You could have died today, Hams. For good. I think I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m okay, aren’t I?” Alexander was going for cocky, but it ends up sounding more like he isn’t sure himself. He can still feel the living shouting and laughing at him if he closes his eyes. “Sorry about getting mad before. I think I was still a little on edge. I was fine with Mulligan, he helped a lot, I didn’t really need you there to hold my hand too.”

Laurens bites the inside of his lips, as if to rein it whatever words are clamoring to get out of them. It doesn’t work.

“I wanted to stay, you know,” he confesses in a soft undertone. “I just didn’t want to make things worse.”

That sounds so dumb that Alexander would get pissed at him again if it wasn’t for how remorseful he sounds. “How could you possibly have made things worse?”

Laurens shrugs, but for once he’s the opposite of dismissive. “You know. You almost died and you were doing like shit. I figured you didn’t need me around to make things awkward in addition to painful.”

Alexander thinks of how heavily and trustfully he leaned against Mulligan on the way up the stairs. Of how Mulligan helped him out of his clothes. Would it have been awkward with Laurens there in his place? Probably.

Then again. “I appreciate your concern, but it was pretty awkward with Mulligan too, believe me,” he sets things straight.

Laurens laughs, sympathetic. “I bet. Did he bitch about it?”

“Nah, he was a real trooper. I could tell he wanted to, though.“

“What a guy. You should buy him a drink next time we’re out.”

“And freak him out completely?”

“Good point.”

Silence falls after that, and Alexander dreads it. Both because it feels unnatural, especially between the two of them, and because if they have nothing to talk about there’s no reason for Laurens to hang around his ex-room any longer. And Alexander… Alexander doesn’t want him to go. Not just yet.

“So you were volunteering at a PDS shelter in Charleston?” he asks, part curiosity, part desperation. “I’m trying to remember if you ever mentioned it to me.”

“I doubt that. It wasn’t a big deal, just three hours a couple times a week.” A beat. Then, softer: “And it was… after I was a total fucking idiot and cut contact with you.”

Alexander will not let himself feel like shit about it again. “Looking for a rebound, huh?” he quips instead. “Man, your PDS kink is so blatant.”

“Enough of that already!” Laurens protests, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not have a PDS kink. I just prefer hanging with them ‘cause they’re less likely to believe all that fucking dumb pulsist propaganda.”

“I see you’re not denying the ‘looking for a rebound’ part.”

“Whatever. You should talk, you’re the one who started dating Maria like twenty minutes after we broke up.”

Alexander wants to scoff. He wants to tell Laurens that he doesn’t get to say that _they_ broke up when he did it all by himself. And what was there to break up anyway? He was too chicken to even let it become something.

Instead, he says: “ _Dating_ might be a bit of a strong word.”

“So she’s not the girlfriend? You have another conquest I don’t know of?” Laurens asks. The tone is light, but there’s a hint of confusion in his eyes. Like he didn’t expect there to be something about Alexander’s life without him that he didn’t know yet.

For the briefest of moments, Alexander is thrown off by Laurens’ certainty that he must be dating some girl at this point in his life. Then he remembers their conversation in front of Philip’s grave. How hurt he was, how upset to see his old friend, and how much he wanted to make him feel like there was no place for him in Alexander’s life anymore.

“No secret girlfriend either. I might have exaggerated a little when I told you I was seeing someone,” he confesses. “Truth is, Maria and I are just having fun. Keeping it as casual as can be.”

Laurens nods, slowly, like he knows all about it. Maybe he does. “Your idea or hers?”

“It was a mutually approved decision, actually,” Alexander tells him. “Believe it or not, I don’t always fall hopelessly in love with the people I sleep with.”

It hurts a little to say it, and it must hurt Laurens too, because he looks away and doesn’t say anything for a long, long while.

Then: “I miss you.”

“Yeah,” Alexander agrees, feeling a little lighter. “I missed you too.”

Laurens shakes his head. He’s looking right at Alexander, now, fear and fire in his eyes. “No, I miss you right now. I miss waking up in the bed next to yours. I miss staying up with you all night. I miss kissing you whenever I feel like it. God, how did I find time to do anything but kiss you all day? I miss teasing pulsist passers-by with you. I miss teasing you. I just… I miss everything we had before I fucked things up. I miss you, the way I had you before.”

Alexander lets him pour his heart out, a little thrill awakening inside him. He feels pathetic. He thought he was… well, not exactly over Laurens, he isn’t sure he’s ever going to be, but onto him, at least. He thought he knew his act well enough not to fall for it again. Lafayette told him, all those months ago. He told him that that’s Laurens’ thing, he makes you feel special until he grows tired, or frightened, and he gets rid of you as quickly and messily as possible. And in case Alexander thought so high of himself to believe he was different, that he was the one that was going to stick, Laurens proceeded to demonstrate how wrong he was by breaking his heart like he breaks everyone else’s – as quickly and messily as possible.

There’s nothing to be gained by falling for John Laurens’ charm.

And yet. The truth is that Alexander misses the way things were too. Everything Laurens said and more, he’d do anything to have it back. He misses his best friend. He misses the guy he fell in love with – completely, stupidly, amazingly.

“What do you want from me, Laurens?” he asks. He feels tired, so tired, but it doesn’t reflect in his voice. He sounds curious. Intrigued, almost.

Either Laurens knows him even better than he thinks or he simply doesn’t pick up on it, anyway, because he doesn’t take it as encouragement. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. You were right that first night, I have no right to come back and start messing with you again.”

“Oh, come on. You’re John Laurens, heartless heartbreaker. Since when do you need the right to do anything?”

Laurens smiles at that definition of himself, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Since I care about hurting you?” he suggests.

“I hate to break it to you, but that ship has sailed a while ago,” Alexander informs him. There’s no bitterness in his voice. He’s done being upset about it. It’s a fact, though, and he thinks they need to put all the facts on the table if they’re to decide… whatever it is they’re deciding. “So. Forget about what you think is expected of you. Forget about tomorrow. Forget about right and wrong. What do you want right now?”

“Don’t you know it already?” Laurens asks, and he sounds exhausted.

Join the club.

“I want to hear you say it,” Alexander says.

For a long, tense moment, nothing happens. Except that they’re staring into each other’s eyes, and Alexander remembers what it was like to get lost in that blackness. And it’s so quiet that he can hear Laurens’ heartbeat as it grows faster in anticipation, loud and thrilled enough for the both of them. And Alexander tries to replay in his head all the bad things they did to each other, a last attempt at changing his own mind, but all he can see is Laurens sitting with him when he had his heart broken, telling him things about himself he never told anyone else, standing recklessly by his side whenever he got into a fight, holding him through his nightmares, believing in him every step of the way. Kissing his pale, blemished skin like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

God, Alexander never stood a chance.

He’s still waiting for Laurens to make a move, and Laurens knows it, and they’re both still looking at each other, both wanting this moment to last forever, both desperate to jump into the next, and after a while it just becomes too much.

Alexander is the first to start grinning. Laurens is the first to burst out laughing.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he says between one fit of laughter and the other, “I really, really want to kiss you right now.”

“Excellent choice.”

They fall into each other, but they’re still too jittery with laughter and joy for Laurens to do anything more than press his forehead against Alexander’s and close his eyes, overwhelmed, for Alexander to do anything more than breathe him in and be thankful he doesn’t cry anymore, because otherwise he’d be tearing up with how much he missed this.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, close, so close to Laurens’ mouth.

“Actually,” Laurens replies, pulling back just enough to look Alexander in the eyes again, his hand cupping Alexander’s cheek, “I think I do.”

They kiss.


	36. In which Alexander goes to rehab

“You did _what_?” Angelica asks. She doesn’t sound that incredulous, more like… disappointed.

It’s past 2 AM, and the Archive will be closing soon. It’s only her and Alexander and a guy drinking all alone at the other end of the bar and a bunch of friends in their twenties dressed in weird period costumes. All living, although some of the twenty-somethings are sporting facial make-up that might fool you.

Alexander can’t remember the last time he was outnumbered at Angelica’s bar. Come to think of it, he can’t remember if he was ever outnumbered before.

“Laurens started it, okay?” Alexander defends himself, a pretty pathetic attempt if he says so himself. “I just… went along with it.”

“That’s how nazis came into power, you know,” Angelica points out matter-of-factly.

Alexander really, really doesn’t need that right now. “Oh, fuck off. Why did I ever think it was a good idea to come talk to you?”

“‘cause I’m sensible and wise,” she says carefully, “and you’re clearly not, since you keep sleeping with Laurens even though you know it’s terrible for you.”

“I didn’t sleep with him!” he protests. “We just kissed.”

Angelica is onto him, though. “Ah, but there’s not ‘just’ anything with you two, is there?”

She’s right. God, she’s so right. All this time they’ve tried to act cool and distanced – we’re _just_ friends, we’re _just_ having fun, it was _just a kiss_ –, they’ve been fooling themselves. And they haven’t even been doing that good a job at it. Because there was nothing casual about the way they were looking at each other a few hours ago. Or the way they whispered their love against each other’s mouths. Or the way they kissed, elated and relieved, like waking up from a nightmare. Like coming home.

“Stop smiling like that. It’s sickening,” Angelica interrupts his recollection.

Alexander shakes himself back to reality, feeling like he was just caught red-handed. “Shit. I’m going to have to move, aren’t I?” He doesn’t want to move. This is his home. His work is here, and his found family, and Laurens…

Goddammit.

Angelica won’t have it. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, you just need to…” She trails off, looking at some point behind Alexander. “Oh _fuck_ no.”

Alexander turns, and finds himself face to face with James Madison. Yup, _James Madison_. It’s so strange seeing him here, in a place that’s the total opposite of everything the fancy restaurant Alexander met him stood for, that it takes him a few seconds to put a name to the face.

Even so, Alexander is the first to say anything. “Well, well,” he starts, “I guess I might have misjudged you, Mr. Madison. Never in a million years would I have expected to meet you in a place of such dubious quality.”

Madison barely spares him a glance before turning to Angelica: “What is he doing here?”

“Give me a break, man,” she sighs. “We’re closing in fifteen, and Alexander here is my friend. You know him, Jefferson knows him. He’s not going to start shuffling and moaning or adding other patrons’ body parts to his drinks or whatever it is you think PDS clients do when they’re out in public.”

“The rules are the rules,” Madison argues unoriginally. Then, to make it sound a little more commanding: “Don’t make me call the police.”

Alexander is starting to get annoyed. And confused, which only contributes to his annoyance. “Okay, what the fuck is going on here?”

“The police, really?” Angelica scoffs. “You want to make the police come here fifteen fucking minutes before closing time because there is _one_ single PDS guy sitting at the bar having a perfectly civil conversation with me? You really think it’s worth it? There’s going to be paperwork. We might be stuck here for another hour.”

Madison just shrugs. “The rules are the rules,” he repeats.

Predictably, it drives Angelica insane. “For _fuck’s_ sake. Don’t think this is the end of it.” She comes out from behind the counter and gestures in the direction of the restrooms. “Follow me, Alexander, to a land of enchantment and squashed human rights.”

She leads him to his favorite booth, the one he sat in that first day, the one that’s a little hidden from the rest of the bar. Only it’s very hidden now – sometimes between tonight and the last time Alexander was here, a thin wall was built around it and another booth nearby, creating a tiny, almost suffocating bar-within-the-bar.

Alexander doesn’t have to think hard to figure out what it is.

“Absolutely not,” he protests, stopping in his tracks. “I’m not sitting at the segregated table.”

“I’m so sorry,” Angelica says, and Alexander knows she means it. It doesn’t make much of a difference, though. “Jefferson went behind my back and got the Archive registered as a PDS-friendly bar.”

“I thought it was always PDS-friendly,” Alexander points out.

“In practice, yes, but it wasn’t registered as such. It wasn’t registered as anything, which meant we could do whatever the hell we liked. But if you’re running a PDS-friendly establishment…”

“You have to have a PDS-destined area,” Alexander finishes for her. He’s been to enough so-called ‘friendly establishments’ to have noticed how misplaced the label is. And now the Archive is just like those places. He wants to throw up. “Look, let’s just forget about the whole thing. I’m going home. I can figure my life out by myself.”

“No, come on, don’t do that,” Angelica pleads. “I want to help you, okay? Even if you just need to talk it all out. And I don’t like the idea of you wandering around alone after… that happened.” She nods in Alexander’s general direction, her lips pursed with worry. Knowing that he was ambushed must have affected her more than she lets on.

Alexander closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to fight with Angelica, but he’s angry, and hurt, and his ears are ringing for some reason and it’s driving him crazy.

But he doesn’t want to fight with Angelica.

“Fine. I’ll wait for you outside. You said you finish in ten, right?” he asks.

She doesn’t seem to be too fond of the plan. “Yes, but I have to close up shop, it’ll take a while. Can’t you just…”

“I’m not sitting there,” Alexander repeats, harsh. Shit, he’s losing it. He puts a hand on Angelica’s arm, a reassuring gesture for her, a grounding one for him, and says, “I’ll be fine, I’m just going right outside. See you when you’re done, okay?”

The air outside tastes of gas and curry and the night, and it helps Alexander calm down a bit. Enough to make the itch to start shouting and breaking stuff subside, at least. But he’s tired, even more tired than he was a few hours ago, sitting in the shower because he didn’t have the energy to stand. These pulsists have come after his family, they have come after him, and now they’ve come after his home. And they’ve won every single time.

He didn’t think it would be so hard.

He didn’t think Angelica would go down so easily.

He knows he’s being unfair – Angelica has been protecting her PDS clientele for months, against Jefferson’s wishes, even against her own interest. The moment is playing in a loop in his brain, though, his fiercest friend getting fed up and escorting him to a segregated area. Fully expecting him to be nice and compliant and sit there, where the living can pretend he doesn’t exist. What was he expecting, though? He’s admitted it himself, he’s tired, and this is his life. What obligation does Angelica have to stick up for him again and again? Or Laurens, for that matter? Or Eliza?

Eliza. She was right before – his living friends, they’re not doing this because they need to. They’re doing it because they want to. And that means they can opt out whenever it gets too inconvenient or painful.

Alexander has never felt so alone.

The twenty-somethings come out first, laughing into the night, talking animatedly about monsters and campaigns and something they’re setting up for June 11th. For a moment, Alexander envies their excited detachment. Next, it’s loner guy’s turn, and he’s staggering a little on his feet. Then it’s Madison’s, and Alexander would probably do something stupid like pick a fight with him if Angelica didn’t catch up with him at the very same time.

“Thank you for waiting,” she says, linking arms with him and starting to walk in the direction of his apartment.

“So what’s the deal with him?” Alexander asks, nodding in the direction Madison went. “Is he your new boss now?”

“Please,” Angelica protests. She makes a face like the mere suggestion sickens her. “No, Jefferson sent him to spy on me. ‘cause he knew I’d never stick to his stupid regulations otherwise.”

“Great, so they’re both your bosses,” Alexander spits.

Angelica stops, and since they’re still arm in arm, Alexander does too. “Are you pissed at me or something?” she wants to know.

“What do you think? You just tried to make me sit in a segregated area.”

She lets go of his arm and stands in front of him, head high. There’s something proud and glorious about the Schuyler sisters even when they’re ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I told you I am. What else what I supposed to do? I know Madison, he doesn’t bluff. He was really going to call the cops. And then we would have been in much bigger trouble.”

“No, you’re right,” Alexander agrees. The sarcasm can probably be heard all the way to Jefferson’s apartment, where he must be sleeping soundly knowing he’s solved his zombie problem once and for all. “I understand. You finally chose to protect your own interest over your ideals.”

“That’s not fair,” Angelica says, hurt and anger starting to seep into her voice.

Bring it on.

“I know it isn’t,” Alexander admits, and he shrugs. “Welcome to my world.”

He starts walking in the direction of home – he doubts they’re going to have anything resembling a meaningful conversation tonight. And if he’s being completely honest with himself, he hates hurting Angelica, even if she hurt him first. He’d rather storm off than stand here and keep yelling at her.

She calls after him, though, and it’s impossible to ignore her. “Wait! Don’t you dare.”

Her voice is small. Almost broken.

Alexander stops.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me right now,” Angelica carries on. “I’ve just had a really shitty day, and I’m not going to end it in a fight with my best friend. I couldn’t stand it.”

Alexander feels a sad, cruel smile tugging at his lips. “You wanna compare notes?” he asks. “‘cause today I found out Eliza doesn’t give a shit about Philip’s case, I was beaten almost to death by the very same kind of living scum you’re now catering to, and I was informed that I’m not welcome anymore in one of the very few places in the world where I ever felt at home. I’m not doing peachy either, believe me.”

“Yeah, well, at least you don’t have to deal with me taking it out on you.”

“I’m not taking it out on you. I’m upset that I was kicked out of my favorite bar just because I’m PDS. Can I do that, at least?”

“Of course. Be upset,” Angelica grants, not missing a beat. “But don’t be mad at me. You know I fought for you. You know I will always fight for you. I can’t win every battle, though.”

Alexander closes his eyes, trying to cling to the anger, to the outrage, but he doesn’t find it in himself anymore. All that’s left is despair.

“This was an important battle to win,” he finally says. He feels drained.

“I know. But I’m going to fix it,” Angelica promises.

“You are? How?”

“I’m still working on it,” she confesses, and Alexander wants for it to be good enough, he really does, but it isn’t. Not here and now, with the ghost of his attackers still haunting the street where he lives, with the harsh letters of the ‘PDS Area’ sign at the Archive still burned in his brain. Mocking him. Reminding him that no place is safe for the likes of him.

He remembers sitting in Eliza’s car, Philip to his left, Mulligan to his right, and before he knows it the words are out of his mouth. “You could have prevented this, you know.”

“What?”

“Eliza told me your parents wanted to lend you the money to buy Church’s share of the bar,” Alexander tells her. “That you were too proud to accept their help.”

“Oh, please, not you too,” Angelica groans.

Alexander is just getting started, though. “You could get rid of Jefferson overnight if you really wanted to. Let’s be real, that bar’s more trouble than it’s worth, he probably regretted buying his share the second he did it. You could fix all of this if you just were willing to invest the money, which you have a lot of anyway, so why…”

“ _I_ have a lot of money?” Angelica interrupts him. “I’m working all day every day, and I’m still struggling to make ends meet. You’re probably richer than I am now, so why don’t you convince Jefferson to sell you his share since it’s all that easy to you?”

“Maybe so,” Alexander admits, and it’s a little strange to think about it. He started off even lower than the bottom, trying to win over this unattainable urban princess with nothing else than his wit and determination, and now he’s making more money than her. He doubts he’ll get used to it any time soon. “But that’s not the point. Neither of us can save the situation on their own, but the difference between you and me is that I only have myself to count on. You have family. A family that owns half the city, and would be more than glad to…”

“Alexander,” she cuts him off again, slowly, exasperated. “I’m thirty years old. I can’t be running to Mommy and Daddy every time I need something, don’t you get that?”

“It wouldn’t be like that. You can just ask them to loan you the money.”

“And how am I supposed to pay them back? You know the Archive earns just enough to stay afloat. If I take a loan, I still won’t be able to go back to the way things were.”

“Fine, don’t get a loan, then,” Alexander says. He’s grasping at straws at this point and he knows it, but he just can’t let this go. “Just ask them for the money. Eliza told me they’d be happy to give it to you.”

Angelica shakes her head. “That’s never going to happen.”

“Why not? This is bigger than you, Angelica.”

“Is it?” she scoffs. “This is my life. It’s exactly as fucking big as I am, and I’m the one who gets to make the decisions. No one else.”

“You said your PDS clients were your family,” Alexander reminds her. “Did you ever really mean it?”

“Of course I did!” Angelica bursts out, hurt. “How can you doubt that after everything?”

It breaks Alexander’s heart to see her this desperate. “Would you ask Eliza to sit where she can’t even see you?” he asks, and there’s no venom in his words anymore. Only hopelessness. “Would you have asked Philip?” It breaks his heart just to say his name. “Fuck, Philip. This was his second home. The place he came to practice piano after school. He told me once he didn’t care that he didn’t have many friends at school, because the people from Aunt Jelly’s bar were more than enough for him. Would you have kicked _him_ out?”

Angelica closes her eyes, and a single tear rolls down her cheek. She doesn’t answer the question, and that in itself is all the answer Alexander needed.

“Why does everything have to be so black and white with you?” she asks instead, her voice so low that Alexander doubts he’d hear it if he were a living. “Why can’t you accept that I care about you, and I do want to help you, but I just can’t this time?”

“Because that’s incredibly selfish of you,” Alexander points out. He lets out a huff, long and tired. “I don’t know why I keep getting my hopes up, honestly. It’s obvious you living don’t give a shit about us.”

“Oh, don’t make this into a pulsism issue. It has nothing to do with it and you know it.”

“I was kicked out of my seat at the bar because I’m PDS,” Alexander reminds her. “That’s the very definition of a pulsism issue. I’m being beaten up and treated like dirt, and people like you and Eliza and Washington might be sorry about it because I know you’re decent, but after a point I’m just not worth fighting for, am I? After a point you learn to accept my suffering as a sad unchangeable fact of life.”

“Don’t say that,” Angelica protests. “We’ve been doing all we can to help you.”

“No, you’ve been doing all that won’t really inconvenience you to help us,” Alexander corrects her. He’s tired of arguing. He’s tired of seeing Angelica’s beautiful living face. “I’m going home. Sorry for vexing you with my problems.”

“Alexander, come on…” Angelica still tries to reason with him, but she doesn’t follow him. She’s probably just as done with this conversation.

He doesn’t look back once as he walks away.

 

There’s a dim light in the living room when Alexander gets back to the apartment, and it catches him by surprise because he wasn’t expecting anyone to still be up. He was supposed to have time to get over his fight with Angelica. To come up with a sensible plan on his own, since she wasn’t of any help to him. He was supposed to have until tomorrow.

But there’s a dim light in the living room, and Laurens is filling a plastic bag with the empty cans of the beers they’ve been drinking earlier, and this weird feeling descends on Alexander, this feeling of destiny and finality.

It ends tonight, he decides. One way or another.

“Hey,” he murmurs, carefully placing his keys in the bowl on the counter. There’s no sound coming from the rooms, so at least Lafayette and Mulligan must be asleep.

“Hey,” Laurens murmurs back, not quite meeting his eyes. “I didn’t even notice you were out. Are you okay?”

Alexander is tempted to lie, but there’s been enough of that going on between him and Laurens and it only ever made things worse. “No,” he admits. “Angelica and I got into a fight.”

“What? Why would…” He accidentally hits a beer can and sends it to the ground with a loud clang. There was still some beer in it, and it spills in a line of little drops as the can rolls across the floor. “ _Shit_.”

Alexander grabs it and hands it to him. “I’ll get something to clean up.”

“No, you don’t have to, you should be…” Laurens starts protesting, but he has no chance, and he knows it. “Thank you. So what happened with Angelica? Is it serious?”

“Yeah. Looks like Jefferson got his segregated area after all,” Alexander tells him without looking at him. “And she didn’t lift a finger to stop him.”

“What?” Laurens asks again. “That’s not possible. I heard them fight these last few days. I thought Jefferson was getting his Jim Crow laws over Angelica’s dead body.”

“Yeah, but he went behind her back and got the place registered as PDS-friendly and now it’s a big mess. I don’t really feel like talking about it,” Alexander says, even though he’s the one that brought it up.

For once, Laurens is gracious enough not to point that out. “Okay, I’ll ask Angelica in the morning.” He takes a long look at Alexander as he stands up to throw a beer-soaked paper towel in the trash. “You should probably go to sleep anyway. I can finish up by myself here.”

“Right, because you don’t need to sleep.”

“Well, _I_ wasn’t in a fight today.”

As usual, Alexander isn’t gracious enough to go along with his bullshit. “You weren’t? Because I seem to recall Lafayette saying differently. And no offense, but it shows. Unless your face has always been purple?”

“Oh shut up, it’s barely noticeable,” Laurens protests, but he does try to check his own reflection in the cabinet, self-conscious. Alexander almost feels bad. “You’re still the only one who was beaten to a pulp. And anyway I’ve already tried, I can’t sleep. Not after…” he trails off.

“Yeah,” Alexander echoes. “Me neither.”

Laurens swallows. “So. Anything I can do to take your mind off Jefferson and Angelica?” he asks, and Alexander would 100% take it as flirting if his friend didn’t seem so… genuine. He truly looks and sounds like he’s concerned about Alexander rather than messing around.

And anyway, Alexander is too done to play that game right now.

“I want to go up to the roof,” Alexander sats carefully, “and scream until Burr comes drag us down. Or calls the cops on us, I wouldn’t put him past that.”

Laurens laughs. “Man. I’ve missed this.” Before Alexander can even decide if he meant it or not, he grabs the apartment keys from the bowl and heads for the door. “Let’s just be quick about it. I don’t want Lafayette to wake up while we’re gone.”

That’s it, Alexander’s perfect excuse to bail. It doesn’t sound very responsible to drag Laurens away when there’s a chance Lafayette might need him, does it? That’s the thing about Laurens, though. He makes Alexander feel like it’s alright not to be responsible all the time.

“It’ll just be a minute,” he promises, mostly to himself and Lafayette’s ghost, and he follows Laurens out the door.

Ten minutes later they’re still out in the night shouting profanities at the sky. Fuck Jefferson and Eacker and cowards that gang up on unarmed PDS people. Fuck the system and the living. Present company excluded, of course. (Laurens laughs at that. “Hey, you know I’d hardly mind.”) It’s childish and it solves nothing, but for some reason it’s exactly what Alexander needed. It only takes a few minutes of this for the tight knot of rage and helplessness that’s been choking him since his fight with Angelica – no, since he was beaten up – no, since Philip was murdered, and maybe even before then, since he came back and was handed an even shorter end of the stick than the one he was born with – to loosen.

And there’s Laurens next to him, echoing all his yells, or throwing his head back with laughter every time Alexander comes up with an especially creative insult. His eternal partner in crime. Alexander is so happy to have him back that he almost forgets how much he hates everything else right now.

So it feels like the most natural thing in the world to lean against him when they’re both shaking with laughter and freedom. To linger there just a moment too long, forehead pressed against his neck, mouth so close to his collarbone that he only has to open it to place a kiss there.

He does. Once, twice, three and four, five times, all the way up Laurens’ neck, until Laurens’ shivering has nothing to do with hilarity.

“Mmm, yes,” he breathes out as Alexander sucks his earlobe, and they’re getting closer and closer now, it’s only going to be a few seconds before they’re kissing again. Alexander could swear his blood is boiling with anticipation, and it’s making it hard to think of anything but how much he wants this. Him. How much he wants Laurens.

Wait, no. This is not how it’s supposed to go. Not again.

He pulls away right before his lips brush against Laurens’.

“I think we should talk,” he says, slowly, checking his friend’s features for a reaction.

There’s a hint of disappointment, but he nods in acceptance. “Yeah. I guess it’s best if we do.” He clears his throat. “Can we go back to the apartment first? We’ve already been gone a while.”

“Right.” Alexander tucks his shirt back in its place. He didn’t even feel Laurens’ hand sneaking under it, but it must have at some point. He tries not to think about it too hard – right now he needs to be focused. Rational.  “I… Yeah. Let’s go.”

They get back to the quiet apartment and sit down on the couch, not on opposite ends but still careful to leave some space between them. God, this is terrible. Alexander usually loves talking, the more serious the issue the better, but he’d give anything to be spared this conversation.

He knows there’s no escaping it, though, so he might as well dive right in.

“So,” he starts.

“So,” Laurens echoes unhelpfully.

Alexander has already had enough. “Why did you kiss me?”

“What?” Laurens asks, taken aback.

“Earlier, I mean. In the room. Why did you kiss me?”

“Because…” He hesitates one more second, and then words start flooding out of him. “Because I missed you, and I wanted to. And I thought you felt the same way. I mean, you told me it was fine. But I guess I just made things weird between us again, didn’t I? God, I shouldn’t…”

Great. Fifteen seconds in and already Laurens is panicking on him. This is going to end splendidly.

“No, I meant what I said. Don’t worry,” Alexander tries to reassure him. “I’m not… putting you on trial or anything. I just think we need to talk things out before it happens again. Because I kinda really want it to happen again, as you might have gathered, but I’m not sure it’s the best idea.”

“Right. Okay,” Laurens says, and nothing else.

Alexander would be getting pissed off right about now if Laurens didn’t look so scared. He’s not messing with him, Alexander realizes, nor is he not acting like he doesn’t give a shit either way. He truly is lost.

Still, as sympathetic as Alexander can be, he’s here to get shit done tonight, and he needs his friend’s collaboration for that.

“Look,” he says, shifting a little closer to him, “I can’t decide for the both of us. I know you hate it, but you’re going to have to talk to me about this, okay? We have to be honest with each other, or it’s going to end up just like last time.”

“I was honest with you,” Laurens argues. “Always. I told you from the beginning I wasn’t looking for anything serious. And you still went and changed the rules.”

“ _I_ changed the rules?” Alexander asks, outraged. “I didn’t ask you for anything you weren’t willing to give me. Ever. This thing between us, I didn’t try to make it into anything serious. It just happened, and that’s when _you_ chickened out and decided to stop talking to me. And then you came back whenever the hell it was convenient for you, and you kissed me whenever it was convenient for you, and I’m tired, okay? I can’t keep up with you, ‘cause I have no idea what it is you really want from me. So tell me. For once in your life, just be honest with yourself and be honest with me and tell me what you want. And I guarantee you I will respect whatever you decide.”

At some point during Alexander’s outburst, Laurens sagged against the couch, his head to the ceiling. Maybe this is it, Alexander muses. Maybe he just broke Laurens with his insistence and he’s going to spend the rest of his life like that, head thrown back, eyes closed, trying to figure it all out. It doesn’t sound much more improbable than Laurens finally reaching a decision.

“Remember that night I wasn’t doing well, so you took me to Eliza’s place with you and then we walked hand in hand and we made out on the Brooklyn Bridge?” Laurens finally asks, his voice distant.

There’s a sarcastic remark on the tip of Alexander’s tongue, but one second before getting it out he remembers how hard this is for Laurens. He doesn’t need Alexander making fun of him right now. He needs Alexander to be as raw and vulnerable as he wants Laurens to be.

“Of course,” he says. He licks his lips and confesses, “I think about it all the time.”

Laurens smiles, and he’s still not looking at Alexander but it warms Alexander’s heart nonetheless. “Me too. I keep thinking that if only I could get over myself, I could have that every night. And it makes me hate myself more than anything I’ve ever done.”

“Get over yourself, then,” Alexander says, but his voice is gentle. A plea.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Alexander asks. “Seriously, why not? What the hell are you so afraid of?”

It might be that Alexander finally asked the right question, or the challenge in his voice. Either way, Laurens shakes himself, sitting up a little straighter and fixing a piercing, heartbroken stare on Alexander.

“You keep asking me what I want,” he says. “Even though you know it better than I do. Right in this moment? I want to be with you. God do I want it. But I’ve been living with myself for the last 24 years, I know what I’m like. I know I could wake up tomorrow and find everything in this life absolutely unbearable – even us. And I can’t do that to you, or to myself for that matter. I just… I can’t make any kind of commitment to you, because I don’t even know myself if I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

He’s running his thumb over his scars as he says it, an automatic gesture, and it breaks Alexander’s heart.

“Laurens…” he murmurs. He knows his friend doesn’t want pity, though, especially not right now. So instead of dwelling on Laurens’ issues, on trying to fix him, he decides: “Okay, forget about tomorrow then. Will you be with me today?”

Laurens pauses and blinks, confused. “What?”

“I’m not asking you for a long-term commitment,” Alexander clarifies. “Just ’til the end of the day. Next midnight, or when we fall asleep, whatever works for you. Do you think you could manage that?”

“Yeah, but what’s the point?”

“The point,” Alexander explains, and if he were still alive his heart would be racing right now, “is that I get to call you my boyfriend for one full day. And I ask you again the next morning.”

“Oh.” Laurens says. There’s realization in his eyes, but he doesn’t look any more confident now that he knows what Alexander is suggesting. “So what, we take it one day at a time? Like we’re in rehab or something?”

Alexander makes a face at the not-so-romantic simile, but he has to admit Laurens got his point. “Sure, if that’s how you want to see it.”

“Alexander,” Laurens says, affectionate and a little condescending, “that’s never going to work.”

“Of course it is. We can _make_ it work,” Alexander insists. “It’s up to us and no one else.”

Laurens sighs, sagging back against the couch. “You don’t get it. That’s exactly the problem, alright? I don’t trust myself.”

“Why, because you don’t have everything figured out yet?” Alexander asks. He isn’t sure throwing his own words back at Laurens is going to help his case, but at this point he’s too desperate to care. “Newsflash, man – nobody does. I mean, take me, do I look like a person who’s done fucking things up?”

Laurens huffs in amusement at that, and it’s all the encouragement Alexander needs.

“Yeah, exactly. I’ve barely even begun. And the same goes for Angelica and Mulligan and Lafayette. Burr too, even though he likes to pretend he’s so much wiser than the rest of us mortals. We don’t have our shit together, alright? None of us does. We’re not even supposed to. We’re human, we’re supposed to figure it out as we go along. And we can do it together, if you let me. One day at a time.”

He takes Laurens’ hand in his, kisses it, and Laurens lets him. Draws in a shaky breath.

“This isn’t fair to you,” he says softly, even as he leans against Alexander’s side.

It feels fragile, this moment, like it’s one breath away from breaking, like Laurens is one wrong word or move away from leaving again. Alexander is terrified to even speak. He has to, though.

“Why not?” he asks.

Laurens’ eyes are fixed on their intertwined hands. “I know you,” he says simply. “You need to make projects and plans and be in total control of any situation. How can you do that when you don’t even know where we stand from one day to the next?”

Alexander considers it for a second. “I still have my plans. I’m going to open my own firm and run for Congress and change the world with or without you, believe me. I’d just rather do it with you.”

“But you’d be giving me all the power to decide about us,” Laurens points out. “That’s not healthy, and it most certainly isn’t fair.”

“That’s not true. Actually, I’d say this whole plan creates a slight unbalance in my favor.” He starts playing with Laurens’ hands, and it calms him down a bit to see Laurens follow his lead without even having to think about it. Like it’s the most natural thing to do. “See, you do have the power to decide every morning if you still want me, but you can only do that if I ask you first. I stop asking you to be with me, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Would you?” Laurens asks, skeptical.

Alexander shrugs again. “Who knows? Right now I can’t imagine anything that could make me stop wanting you, in whatever way you’ll let me have you. But yeah, I have no idea. Maybe one day this won’t be enough anymore. Maybe one day I’ll meet someone I like as much as I like you, and it’ll be wonderful and easy and I’ll stop asking you to be with me and try dating them instead.”

“You promise?”

Alexander licks his lips, considering his next words carefully. “I promise I won’t let this thing between us turn into a routine we both feel obligated to stick to even though neither of us wants it anymore,” he finally says.

“And you won’t sacrifice your chance at a better, uncomplicated relationship out of fear of hurting me?” Laurens presses on.

“I promise.”

“Then I’m in,” Laurens accepts, holding Alexander’s hand a little tighter and looking up at him. “For today.”

"Today,” Alexander agrees. He laughs, amusement and relief. “You know, I’ve never had to promise anyone I’ll consider breaking up with them before.”

“It’s dating in New York,” Laurens quips back. “You meet all sorts of weirdos.”

“Thank god I won’t be dating for a while, then.”

Laurens smiles, and sits up a little straighter, and kisses him. Again and again and again, until there isn’t a single nerve ending in Alexander’s body that isn’t singing praise to his lips. And Alexander would kiss him back every time, but he’s so happy that he can’t stop blabbering and still it’s okay, it’s perfect, Laurens doesn’t mind, Laurens is actually replying to his ramblings about the night and politics and parkour like they matter, and maybe in a way they do.

Morning finds them lying on the couch half on top of each other, legs entwined. They’ve stopped kissing a while ago but they don’t seem to be able to let go of each other, and as for shutting up, that’s always been a lost cause.

“Your skin is so pretty in the morning,” Alexander mutters against Laurens’ neck.

Laurens bursts out laughing in reply. He’s been laughing a lot tonight – they both have, for the most random stuff – and it’s such a good sound to hear. Alexander wants to tell him. He’s been restraining himself too long, from now on he’s going to tell his boyfriend every little thing he adores about him.

Laurens, of course, won’t have any of it. “Fuck off,” he says, but he’s still laughing so Alexander figures he doesn’t really mind that much. And if he does, he can always break up with him tomorrow morning.

God, Alexander is a genius.

“I’m serious,” he insists, kissing Laurens’ bare shoulder for good measure. “In this light? It’s the most beautiful shade. It’s one of the things I missed most about waking up in the same room as you.”

“So Maria didn’t make you forget all about me after all?” Laurens asks, and mostly he’s just teasing, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice too. Him and his fucking insecurities. Alexander is going to enjoy wiping them all away.

“Hardly,” he replies, honest. “She only spent the night once or twice. I told you, it wasn’t anything serious.”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t supposed to be, either.”

Alexander props himself up on his elbow and looks Laurens right in the eye. “Is this the point where we have The Talk? You know, about the people we were with while we were apart?”

Laurens shrugs. “What’s one more talk at this point?”

Alexander grins and touches Laurens’ nose with his. “Look at you, wanting to confront issues instead of ignoring them. I’m impressed.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Stop objectifying me,” Alexander quips. He pulls back then, and asks, not a joke anymore: “So what do you want to know? Any way I can convince you I’m serious about… Maria and I not being serious?”

“I’m not sure,” Laurens admits. He makes a frustrated, self-deprecating noise with his throat. “I don’t even know if I want you to convince me. I mean, yeah, I don’t love the idea of you having feelings for someone else, but if you were with her and you still chose me, it means I’m worth something, right?”

Alexander’s astonishment and pity must be showing on his face, because Laurens stops talking and throws his head back against the cushion, eyes shut tight.

“Shit, that sounded so fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s–it’s fine,” Alexander rushes to reassure him. When Laurens looks at him again, one eyebrow eloquently raised, he amends: “It’s good that you’re aware of it, at least.”

“Is it? What good is knowing the way you feel is totally fucked up if you can’t help it?”

“Are you kidding me? That’s all you need. It’s a cliché for a reason – you can’t work on your issues if you don’t even realize they’re there.” Alexander remembers something, then. “By the way, are you still going to therapy now that you’re back?”

“What, all the way to Charleston?” Laurens asks, an amused light in his eyes. “Every Monday and Thursday at 6?”

Alexander gives him a dramatic eye-roll. “Of course not all the way to Charleston. But there’s therapists in New York too, you know.”

“You don’t say.” Laurens wets his lips, thoughtful. “I’ve been more focused on finding someone good for Laf these last few days. But yeah, once that’s all settled I guess I can look for my own personal shrink too.”

Alexander nods slowly. It should be good enough, but it isn’t. “Look… I know Laf is everyone’s priority right now, but don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay? You’re fucking important too.”

“I’ll do my best,” Laurens promises.

“Good. And I probably shouldn’t encourage you, but since you’re so worried about it – you’re a big part of the reason it could never be more than sex between me and Maria. She just needed a rebound from her husband, and I was still completely in love with you. So you can relax. I never had feelings for anyone else, and you’re worth everything.”

Laurens’ legs brush against his in silent affection. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay. You can apologize by being completely honest about all the guys you’ve banged in the South,” Alexander suggests with a wicked grin. “Let’s see… You were there for thirty-seven days, so I’d imagine they were about a dozen? A dozen and a half?”

“Pretty much,” Laurens confirms. “But after that the Grindr well started to dry up, so I took a trip to Vegas and got married to some 50-year-old dude. As one does.”

“As one does,” Alexander plays along. “Please tell me he’s loaded?”

“How can you even suggest that, I married him for love!” Laurens protests.

“My bad,” Alexander says, and kisses him.

Laurens smiles against his mouth. “You’re forgiven. Oh, and I slept with some girl from home to see what the fuss was all about and long story short, you’re going to be a step-dad.”

Alexander raises an eyebrow. “You sure you want me to meet the kid? ‘cause I’m warning you, it’s definitely going to like me more.”

“Great. You can look after it while I have sex with the mo… Ugh, okay, that’s it. I can’t keep going, it’s too gross.”

“You started it.”

“Yeah, and now I’m finishing it.”

“Not so fast,” Alexander stops him. He looks him right in the eyes. “I want the serious answer.”

“Do you really care?” Laurens asks, stroking Alexander’s arm with his thumb. “They were all one-night stands back at home. Chances are you’re never going to meet any of those guys, and I’m never going to see them again. Or if I do, I won’t even remember them.”

“I’m curious, I can’t help it. Besides, I don’t think it’s fair you know all about me and Maria and I don’t even know how many people you were with.” He rests his chin on Laurens’ chest and gives him his most sensible, trustworthy look. “I’m not asking for embarrassing details, just… give me something.”

For a long moment, Laurens just looks at him. Then he chuckles and looks away. “See, the thing is… It’s kinda hard for me to give you something when there was nothing.”

Alexander pulls back, trying to decide if Laurens is still messing with him. “Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously?”

“Why would I lie about it?”

That’s what Alexander was wondering too. On the other hand, he’s lived with Laurens for over five months, it seems inconceivable that he might have changed his lifestyle so drastically after only a few weeks away.

“Okay,” he accepts. “Okay, fine. May I ask why that is?”

“You really want me to say it, don’t you,” Laurens grumbles.

“I don’t even know what you’re going to say,” Alexander says, and in part it’s true. He’s learned a while ago that it’s better not to get his hopes up with Laurens.

Laurens gives him a look, and Alexander suspects he’s regretting getting into the whole issue now. But that’s what he gets for being paranoid.

“I’m not sure,” he admits after a while. “I guess I just wasn’t in the mood. I mean, I did try chatting up a guy or two, but I’d just get bored and wish I could talk to you instead.”

Alexander hopes his touched grin isn’t as huge as it feels.

“Fuck you, man. This is why I don’t tell you things.”

So much for hoping.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just really, really happy.”

He kisses Laurens again, slowly, tongues melting against each other. _This is good_ , he thinks. _And it’s real. It’s really happening._ It’s not all bad, he can still find some happiness here and there.

They’ve just pulled apart when Lafayette’s voice raises from the direction of the rooms. “Aw, isn’t this a good way to start the day. You guys are back together, _oui_?”

He’s coming out of his room, already dressed even though his hair is still all over the place, and there’s no hiding the truth from him. Why would they anyway?

“Yeah,” Alexander confirms, and it’s one more little moment of happiness. “For today, at least.”

Laurens grins at him in a complicit way.

Lafayette gives up. “ _Desolé_ , guys, I can’t possibly deal with your crazy before coffee.”

“About that…” Laurens starts, but Lafayette has already reached the kitchen island.

“Betrayal!” he exclaims dramatically. “Where’s the coffee?”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m on it.”

After one last peck on Alexander’s cheekbone, Laurens disentangles himself from him and jumps to his feet. Alexander would complain about the loss of contact, but truth be told he doesn’t mind the sight of his boyfriend walking around the apartment in just his boxers either.

His _boyfriend_. Holy shit.

He’s back in ninth grade, and he’s so happy he doesn’t even care.

He pulls himself up to a sitting position, throws his shirt back on and watches his friends bicker about the coffee.

“You know, my unwavering support of you two is starting to waver,” Lafayette grumbles as he sits on the couch’s armrest and lets Laurens work his magic.

“I’ve been gone for over a month,” he points out, gathering everything he needs on the counter. “How did you guys even get by?”

“Hams usually woke up early and got the coffee from Angie,” Lafayette supplies, fixing an accusing stare on him.

He looks like he’s just joking, anyway, so Alexander doesn’t take him too seriously. “Give me a break, man, I’m in love” is his pathetic excuse.

It works.

“Aww,” Lafayette says, and it doesn’t sound as mocking as it should. “Fine, I guess you’re forgiven this time. Just don’t turn this into a habit.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I like Laurens’ coffee better than sex anyway.”

“See, that’s why you shouldn’t sleep around,” Laurens argues. “It makes you forget how good sex can be. Especially with me.”

Alexander smiles at him, fond. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I just like your coffee that much.” 

“I second that,” Lafayette agrees. “Seriously, when are you going to give up your gross medical studies and become a full-time chef?”

“It’s so good to see everyone I know supports my life decisions,” Laurens complains.

“I support them,” Alexander reminds him.

“Yeah, but you’re my boyfriend. You don’t count.”

“Excuse you? I count more than anyone else. _Because_ I’m your boyfriend, and because I’m the wisest person you know. I don’t know why you’d bother asking anyone for a second opinion, honestly.”

“You’re the wisest person I know? _You_? The same guy who almost got us both arrested for public disturbance last night because he just needed to share his views on living supremacy with the whole street at 4 AM?”

“I _knew_ it was you two!” Mulligan exclaims, the door of his room busting open dramatically, and he may have been going for an intimidating entrance but it looks so staged that the other three end up laughing in his face. “This is so not funny,” he grumbles. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Look who’s talking! Were you just hiding behind the door waiting for the right moment to bust us?” Alexander asks.

“Of course not,” he denies a little too quickly. Forget about Laurens, he’s the one who’s pursuing the wrong career. He should really try his hand at the performative arts sometime. “And anyway you can’t compare the two things. I thought you were in trouble again last night, or that Laf wasn’t doing well.”

“Oh, so you weren’t worried about me?” Laurens teases him.

Mulligan huffs. “I’ve given up worrying about you a long time ago. It’s a full time job.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Laurens decides, flashing him a smug smile.

“Sure, I totally meant it as one.” Mulligan nods. “So. What does one have to do to get a coffee around here?”

“Grab a mug and pour it. Or do you expect me to serve you grown-ass men as well?”

“I mean,” Alexander hazards. “You’re kind of already there.”

“I don’t have to wait ’til tomorrow morning to break up with you, right?” Laurens threatens, but he starts taking everyone’s mugs out of the cupboard.

“I love you so much!” Alexander tries to get back in his good graces, at the same time as Lafayette slides down on the couch next to him and asks: “What’s this deal with you two dating just for today, anyway?”

“It’s kind of a long story. Let’s just say we’re taking things slow.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Mulligan interjects. “For a moment there I thought you were rushing into things, what with you fucking on my couch and all.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking around anymore, and it kinda hurts. It hurts that something that’s making Alexander so happy feels like such an inconvenience to one of his closest friends. 

“We didn’t fuck on your couch,” Alexander protests.

Mulligan misunderstands. “I don’t care if you _made love_ and it was beautiful and perfect, a jizz stain is a jizz stain.”

“I’m loving this breakfast conversation,” Lafayette jokes.

“That’s not what he meant,” Laurens sets things straight. He’s finally done with the coffee and is handing everyone their mugs. “We didn’t do anything. I mean, we did make out a lot and it was glorious, but Hams isn’t really in shape to do more.”

That seems to be good enough for Mulligan. “In that case, scoot over,” he tells Lafayette, and sits down beside him, and turns on the TV to channel-surf pointlessly like he does every morning. It’s normalcy, and it’s such a huge relief to Alexander that for the first time in his life he feels a little stupid. He’s a grown man, he shouldn’t care if Mulligan approves of his relationships. Still, he does, and maybe it isn’t such a bad thing after all. Maybe it just means he isn’t on his own anymore.

“I’m in perfect shape,” Alexander argues, even though he knows it’s pointless. Laurens is right anyway – it’s going to be at least a couple of weeks until his bruises heal enough for him to be touched without being sent into a world of pain. Probably more. He’s going to find the pulsists that beat him up and kill them. “You’re just a paranoid doctor dictator.”

“Yup, and that’s exactly why there’s no arguing with me,” Laurens confirms, sitting in his lap with his own cup of coffee. He’s still shirtless, and his shoulders are peppered with freckles, and it takes all of Alexander’s effort not to start tracing constellations between them with his mouth. He focuses on his coffee instead.

“I’m guessing you’ll be going back to your old room, then?” Mulligan asks Laurens.

“Ha! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Not as much as you would.”

“True.” Laurens shifts his position a little, just enough to be able to kiss Alexander.

Alexander kinda feels like a jerk. He’s always hated those creepy couples that can’t hang with their friends without being all over each other every two seconds, and now he’s just like that. It’s not like it’s coming as a surprise, though – secret dating aside, Laurens has always been all about PDA. And it’s kinda awesome it’s Alexander that gets to be obnoxious with him rather than the boy toy of the month.

That doesn’t mean they’re going to completely disregard their friends, of course. Two seconds, and Alexander pulls back.

“Do I take it we’re moving back together?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Kind of a big step to take after we’ve only been dating for three hours, don’t you think?”

“Laurens.”

“Sorry.” It takes him a moment to think about it, but that’s okay. As long as he’s taking it seriously. “Let’s give it a couple more weeks,” he eventually suggests. “We’re not going to sleep together for a while anyway, so there’s no rush. And maybe Lafayette will be doing better with his nightmares by then.”

Alexander nods. “Yeah. Good thinking.”

“I’m touched, but you don’t have to organize your lives around me,” Lafayette protests. “I can’t stand to be more of an inconvenience to all of you than I already am.”

Mulligan’s voice grows cold, the way it always does when Lafayette scares the shit out of him with his newfound existential guilt. “Don’t you dare even think that.”

“Look at me right now,” Alexander says, spreading his arms and gesturing to Laurens, still glued to him. “I literally have no room to breathe. Sleeping in separate rooms is probably the only way I’m going to have some time to myself the next few days.”

“You said it,” Laurens confirms, nuzzling Alexander’s neck for good measure.

Lafayette doesn’t seem completely sold, but he can’t find a convincing argument either. “ _C’est bien_. But as soon as you feel better Laurens and Mulligan are switching rooms, no matter how I’m doing.”

Before Alexander can politely tell him to shove it, Mulligan changes channel again and time instantly seems to freeze.

Philip’s face is on the screen.

Well, a picture of it. It’s the photo that’s been used most by the media covering his death and Eacker’s case – a passport photo that looks a little like a mug shot. Not that it’s enough to make Philip look even a little bit threatening.

It’s the morning news. A picture of Philip’s face is on the screen. And behind it, the breaking news the talking heads have been discussing for what seems like a while now.

_Rabid boy’s family drops charges against police officer that shot him_.


	37. In which Alexander quits

The worst part is that it comes completely out of nowhere. They had met the previous morning, Alexander and the Schuylers, and talked at length about the case. Yes, things weren’t looking too good, but when do they ever look good when it’s the police against the underdog? It didn’t matter. They had the money, and some promising connections, and the video Dolly got from her classmate, the one that didn’t really show Philip or Eacker but could have been enough to prove that no kid was in immediate danger when Eacker fired the shot. They were resourceful and motivated enough to see this through, so why wouldn’t they?

Alexander’s mind immediately goes to Angelica, but even he isn’t so paranoid to think she could do something like that. Talk her parents into dropping a case that was so important to all of them just because she and Alexander had a fight. And Eliza made it very clear that she didn’t want any part in this investigation drama, no way she got involved just to undermine him. So who could have convinced the Schuylers that it wasn’t worth it?

Unless they weren’t really convinced as much as coerced into doing it. Maybe they were threatened, the way Washington was all those months ago, or even put at real risk, like Alexander was last night. Maybe they thought one dead grandson was enough and decided to cut their losses.

It doesn’t make it better. It just makes them cowards. Not only are they too scared to defend Philip’s memory, they didn’t even have the guts to tell Alexander about their decision. He had to find out from the fucking news – from an attention-grabbing title on TV and the robot voice of a commentator who sees Philip as nothing but hot news.

It’s Alexander’s day off, which usually means he’ll get some work done from home rather than go all the way to the firm, but if Washington thinks that’s enough to stop him from barging into his office demanding an explanation he’s sorely wrong.

“Why?” he asks the second he’s face to face with his boss. No greetings, no pleasantries. He’s done being pleasant. “Why did they drop the charges? Did something happen? Why didn’t they tell me? Why didn’t _you_ tell me? And why wasn’t I even consulted in the decision? This was my case. You know how much I cared about it, you all knew, and I have to find out I’m off it from the TV?”

He isn’t leaving until he gets an answer to each and every one of this questions, plus an apology, and Washington must know it because he shuts his laptop and leans back against his chair.

“I’m sorry,” he says gravely. “I wanted to call you, but I wasn’t sure what time you got up on your day off.”

“Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Alexander tells him. “Don’t you know me at all? Something like this happens, I don’t give a shit if it’s 4 AM, you have to let me know.”

“Control yourself, Hamilton,” Washington commands. Of course. Let’s worry about appearance and convention, it’s easier than facing the facts. “I’m still your boss.”

“Yeah, and you’re a lawyer too,” Alexander counters. “You of all people should know how I feel. You’d be just as pissed if it had happened to you.”

“Maybe. But I still wouldn’t use it as an excuse to verbally abuse my superiors.”

That’s an exaggeration if Alexander has ever seen one, but he knows this way they’re not getting anywhere. He’s just playing Washington’s game – as long as he keeps showing how angry he is, Washington will just keep reprimanding him and he won’t answer any of his questions.

Alexander does his best to relax. “What happened?” he asks, voice softer.

Washington looks away for a moment, out the window to his left, and Alexander can’t help following his gaze. Two pigeons are chasing each other outside the building, and the sky is burning, already too hot for the season.

Alexander can’t take it. “Come on, what happened? What’s so bad that you don’t think you can tell me?”

“Nothing,” Washington confesses. He looks back at Alexander, and there’s a hint of an apology in his eyes. “That’s what’s so bad. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. The Schuylers just asked for my opinion yesterday, right after their meeting with you. And I told them the truth.”

“The truth?” Alexander echoes. He thinks he’s starting to understands what happened, and his mind is a haze of betrayal and confused fury. “What did you tell them?”

For just a moment, Washington looks hesitant, but there’s no regret in his voice when he speaks. “That you’re one of the best lawyers I’ve ever known, and you’ve won some difficult cases since you started working here,” he starts with the good news. “And that this case is probably too much even for you.”

“You…” Alexander starts, incredulous, but Washington doesn’t let him go on.

“That there have been thousands of police-related shootings in the last ten years, and only about fifty policemen were convicted. That every jury knows the hard choices the members of the force have to make in order to keep the majority of the people safe, and they’ll do anything in their power to allow them to keep doing their job. That the fact that young children were present on the scene was most likely going to play against us rather than in our favor. That these cases tend to drag on for years, so before they embarked in such an ordeal they should have thought seriously about what they wanted more – revenge or peace. I assume they chose the latter.”

The more he talks, the sicker Alexander feels. He tries to interrupt him a dozen times – if the game is rigged you should try to expose it instead of simply giving up, the police doesn’t protect the majority of the people only the privileged, the only child that was hurt was Philip so maybe the dangerous one wasn’t him, and mostly why _why_ did you decide I was going to lose before I even got a chance to try?

He does get to ask that last question, at least, but all Washington says is, “It wasn’t your choice to make, it was theirs.”

“But you talked them into it,” Alexander argues. “I saw them yesterday morning, they were ready to parade Eacker through the city in humiliation all by themselves. You convinced them it wasn’t worth it. It was only you. So tell me why, at least. The money was good, the clients were as happy as they could have been, I was going to make it…”

“Were you?” Washington questions him. “I know how close you were to that poor child. You really think it was good for you to go around thinking about his death all the time? Answering endless interviews about him?”

“What does good have to do with any of this? It’s the job and you do it, no matter how painful it is.”

“You keep forgetting that we’re people, Hamilton, all of us. You, me, Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler, that child’s poor mother… The job isn’t more important than any of us. And sometimes it just isn’t worth the pain it causes.”

“Who are you to say that?” Alexander explodes. “Who the fuck are you to say that? This wasn’t just a job, it was Philip’s life. His legacy. Now all he’s ever going to be remembered as is a dumb rabid that threatened a bunch of kids, and it’s all your fault.”

“As opposed to what?” Washington asks, more confrontational than Alexander has ever seen him. “A martyr to your cause? Maybe I misjudged the situation. I thought I was helping you, but it seems that you didn’t care about Philip as much as your own agenda.”

He did _not_ just say that. “My _agenda_? What the fuck have you been smoking? God, I’m so sick of all you living acting like you’re so high and mighty with your decision not to get political all the time. I can’t make that decision, do you get that? For one second, can you look beyond yourself and your fucking undeserved privilege and realize that it’s not an agenda, or an obsession, it’s just my shitty life that I’m trying to live? And that no matter how much you deny it to yourself you’re part of the problem, you hypocrite, you coward, you…”

“That’s enough,” Washington roars, standing up, and it’s so uncharacteristic and sudden that Alexander has to take a step back. “I will not be talked to this way. I’m your superior, and if you can’t accept that…”

It takes Alexander one second to make the decision. “No, you’re not,” he says before the sensible part of his mind can convince him that this is not standing up for himself, it’s throwing himself on his own sword. “I quit.”

The confusion in Washington’s countenance alone makes it worth it. “You what?” he asks.

“You heard me,” Alexander says, standing up a little straighter. No turning back now. “I quit. Find some other patsy to jerk around to keep your living guilt at bait. I’ve had enough.”

He turns on his heels and leaves, Washington’s voice following him for a while as he tries to reason with him, apologize, and finally explodes in a series of insults when Alexander slams the door in his face. Nothing particularly pulsist, although it’s a little sickening how he calls Alexander an ingrate and seems to believe to be the main responsible for his success. Sure. Have fun finding someone who can replace him.

It takes almost twenty minutes of walking around Manhattan without purpose for him to calm down enough to grasp the enormity of what he’s done. He quit his job. He’s unemployed again – back where he started when he first came back to the city. With the exception that he has a roof above his head, and the government funded insurance covering his medications for one year after the completion of his treatment is about to expire. Meaning he’d better find the money to buy his own neurotryptiline soon, or it’s turning rabid and getting shipped back to the treatment center for him. Unless he gets a bullet in the head first, of course.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Why does he have to be such a hothead? He always does the first shit that comes to his mind, and now he’s fucked. What else was he supposed to do, though? He couldn’t stand to work for Washington one day longer. Even thinking about it now makes him sick. So yeah, he did the right thing. There’s nothing to regret, he just needs to figure out his next step.

The old, dignified roofs of King’s College come into view, and he realizes he hasn’t been wandering aimlessly after all.

_How’d you feel about skipping class this fine morning?_ he texts Laurens. And right after that, _I kinda need you_.

He feels bad about texting his friend. Boyfriend. He knows Laurens has a lot of catching up to do, he can’t afford to sneak out of class every time Alexander has an argument with someone or does something impulsive and dumb or both. Come to think of it, he’s probably going to tell him that. Or maybe he isn’t even going to see the text before his break, it’s not like he…

_Where are you?_ Laurens replies.

Alexander hesitates. It’s selfish to ask Laurens to drop everything and run to him. But Laurens is willing to do it, and Alexander kinda needs to know one of his living friends still cares about him.

_Already on campus. Meet me at Cicero’s statue?_ he asks before he can change his mind.

_2 mins_ , Laurens agrees, and Alexander feels a little lighter.

There’s a small lawn at the very edge of campus with no trees or benches and not really close to any entrance, which means nobody ever really goes there. That’s where Cicero stands. He usually gets desecrated by drunk ex-students every year after graduation, but it looks fine when Alexander comes to sit on the grass in front of it.

He didn’t take part in the tradition when he graduated from King’s College, and he told himself it was because it was a sad, slightly humiliating cliché. Truth is, this was the kind of thing you did to celebrate with your friends, and Alexander had no friends at the time. When he sees Laurens walk to him, computer sleeve hanging from his shoulder and that mischievous grin spreading on his face like it always does when they meet, Alexander can’t help thinking he would have been so down to vandalize faculty property with him by his side. And Lafayette and Mulligan. Maybe they could even have dragged Burr into it with some excuse.

“You’re a terrible influence on me,” Laurens says, plopping down on the grass next to him.

It’s all in good fun, of course, but Alexander can’t help seeing the truth behind the teasing words. He bites the inside of his lips and looks away. “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have texted you during class, I…”

“Hey. I was kidding,” Laurens reassures him, holding his shoulder and looking him right in the eyes. “You know can call me whenever you like. I’m here for you. I want to be.”

Alexander smiles. “Thank you.”

He leans forward and kisses his boyfriend on the lips, soft and brief. That was the intention, at least. But Laurens immediately comes back for more, knuckles stroking Alexander’s cheek, and it’s a while before they talk again. Not that Alexander minds. This kind of distraction is all he could ask for.

Still, all good things must end, and before long Laurens pulls back and asks: “So what do you need me for?”

Alexander licks his lips, wishing he could taste Laurens on them. “Nothing in particular,” he admits. “I just wanted to see you, ‘cause that always makes me feel better on shitty days.”

He waits for Laurens to laugh uncomfortably, or to barf at the cheesiness, but he doesn’t do either. He just runs his thumb down Alexander’s cheek and waits for him to finish.

“And I guess I need to be reminded that there’s still one decent living in the world.”

That does make Laurens uncomfortable. “Woah, okay. _I’m_ decent? Is this about your argument with Angelica? Look, whatever happened I’m sure you can work it out, I can’t believe…”

“I quit my job,” Alexander tells him, because he can’t be the only person who knows anymore.

“You… you what? Why would you do that?” Laurens asks, too shocked to remember that he’s supposed to side with Alexander. Shit, what if he hears what happened and doesn’t? What if he tells him what Washington did, that nobody else is ever going to hire a PDS lawyer and he should have kept his head down and been grateful for the one chance he got instead of wasting it on his pride? Alexander doesn’t think he could take it, not after everything that happened these last few days.

But he has to find out what Laurens thinks sooner or later, and he’s never been one to delay the inevitable. So he takes a deep breath, and he tells him everything that happened with Angelica and Philip’s case and Washington.

“The privileged fucker,” Laurens spits, and it’s kinda funny coming from him, but true. “After everything you’ve done for his sorry excuse for a law firm? Give him an hour, he’ll start calling to beg you to reconsider. Dandridge too. Hell, she’s probably tearing him a new one as we speak.”

Alexander smiles at that, because he can picture it perfectly. Even if Dandridge agreed with Washington about dropping the case, which sounds pretty unlikely since it was earning them all a lot of money, she’ll never forgive him for letting Alexander go.

“But don’t you dare go running back to them the second he realizes his mistake,” Laurens carries on. “They had their chance and blew it. You deserve better.”

“Easier said than done. In case you don’t remember, nobody else seemed so keen on having me on their staff when I came here.”

“Yeah, but that was ages ago. You were nobody then – I mean, you were an exceptional student but you had a three-year gap on your CV thanks to the Rising. And yeah, the fact that you were PDS didn’t help. But now… Washington’s firm might not be that big, but he’s still a pretty important name in the business. And you’ve won two very difficult cases, and you’ve been on the news a lot with Philip’s case.” He pauses, realizing something. “Holy shit, you’re famous. You’re going to leave me for some pretty boy actor, aren’t you?”

Alexander shrugs. “Or pretty girl actress. You know I’m not picky.”

“That’s _not_ funny,” Laurens complains, punching his shoulder.

“No, it’s not,” Alexander agrees. He shifts a little closer to Laurens. “How about you, huh? Aren’t you going to leave me now that I’m an unemployed loser at the bottom of the food chain?”

“Didn’t you hear a word I just said? You’re going to be unemployed for like, two days. Three at most. And I’m not fucking around anymore, okay? I mean it.”

“I know,” Alexander says. He feels a surge of gratitude for how much Laurens believes in him. “Thank you. You’re the absolute best.”

Laurens smiles and looks away, his cheeks a pleased red. “So what’s the plan now?” he asks after a moment. “You going to send out CVs? Look for open positions?”

“I guess,” Alexander sighs. He can’t believe three hours ago his job was to get justice for Philip, and now he’s back to begging strangers for a chance.

No, not begging. Laurens is right – he has already proven himself more than enough. He can talk to his possible employers as an equal. They have as much to gain from hiring him as he from being hired, and now they all know it.

Laurens bumps shoulders with him. “Cheer up, man. Door, window and all that shit. Which doesn’t make much sense because a window is worse, accessibility speaking, but the point still stands.”

“You’re uncharacteristically optimistic this morning,” Alexander points out.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re uncharacteristically defeatist. I’m just trying to restore the universe’s balance,” Laurens counters. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Trust me.”

“I do,” Alexander says, and it’s true. Laurens’ pep talk really made him confident about his future. But he can’t still relax and smile, because… “I’m pissed, though. About Philip.”

Laurens nods, his eyes turning sad.

“I might be going to be okay, but what about him? He’s dead, there’s no undoing that, but I thought I had a chance to get his story heard, at least. To make the people who murdered him face reality. They weren’t heroes, they didn’t slay the dragon. They panicked, and they made a mistake, and they murdered a little boy.” He only realize he’s been shaking when Laurens holds him. “They murdered a kind, brilliant, amazing little boy,” he repeats softly. “And no one is going to hold them accountable for it.”

“They’ll get what they deserve, one way or another,” Laurens promises, and his voice is barbed wire. Fire and gasoline. It’s dangerous, and fierce, and for a moment Alexander believes that it’ll be enough, that his outraged determination alone will punish everyone that played a role in Philip’s death, no matter how small or coincidental. “All of them. Starting with Eacker.”

“I really, really hope you’re right,” Alexander says, resting his head on his shoulder.

They sit like that for a while, not talking, both lost in the same kind of thoughts and taking comfort from the other’s presence beside them. It’s a blur of rage, and helplessness and sadness, but there’s something else, too, a thin thread of trust and understanding and love that makes Alexander feel lucky in spite of it all. There really is one decent living person in his life, after all.

“You know what you need to find a good job?” Laurens asks eventually. “A reference letter.”

Alexander snorts. “Yeah. I’m sure Washington is dying to write me one.”

“Probably not,” Laurens agrees with a little smirk. “But luckily he’s not the only lawyer you know.”

“You’re right, there’s Jefferson too. And… Oh my god. You’re not trying to convince me to ask Burr for help again, are you?”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I did tell you how it ended last time, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but that was only because you…” Laurens starts.

Alexander gives him a Look.

“Okay, let’s forget about Burr, then,” Laurens relents. He mulls over options for a second before lighting up. “Ooh, I know it. My father could write you one.”

That’d be terrific, actually. Laurens’ dad might not be a celebrity like Washington, but he’s been in the business for longer and has just as many connections. And even more respect, probably.

There’s only one little problem. “He doesn’t even know me,” Alexander points out.

Laurens rolls his eyes. “Fine, let me rephrase it. I could write you one and we could send it from his email. I’ve been looking for an excuse to use it for ages, it would serve him right for picking the most predictable password in the world. Guess what? It’s his wedding anniversary.”

“That’s sweet,” Alexander comments.

“It’s fucking irresponsible, is what it is. It’s a work email, he’s supposed to take…”

Laurens’ tirade is cut short by Alexander’s phone starting to ring.

It’s Angelica.

Alexander looks at the screen for a long moment without knowing what to do. He was feeling a little better, he doesn’t really want to get in another fight right now. Then again, not picking up would be the same as admitting defeat, wouldn’t it?

“It’ll be okay,” Laurens murmurs, kneading his shoulder, and Alexander picks up.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Hi. Um. It’s Angelica,” she says unnecessarily. She’s nervous, Alexander realizes. Angelica has only been nervous around him once before. “Sorry to bother you, I know you’re probably hard at work, but do you think you could come to the Archive at lunch? Or whenever it’s better for you, really. We need to talk. You don’t have to come inside if you don’t want to,” she adds quickly, remembering his indignation from last night.

Alexander exchanges a look with Laurens. He does not want to see Angelica. He knows she probably just wants to make things right, but that’s exactly the problem. He isn’t sure he’s ready to. And what can she do anyway? The segregation plan is in place. There’s no making things better, only not making them worse, and the best way to do that is for Alexander to stay away from Angelica.

And every other living he knows except Laurens, who’s kind of a honorary PDS sufferer anyway. That’s when it strikes Alexander – it’s not just Jefferson’s oppressive laws that are segregating him. It’s his own anger and distrust of the living too.

Well, fuck that. He won’t be offended into silence. He’ll show up again and again, be on their case until they either see reason or put up a some kind of restraining order against him. They can make him disappear if they want to, but they don’t get to blame it on him. They don’t get to keep their conscience clean, to keep believing they’re the good guys just because they’re not driving him out with torches and pitchforks.

“Sure,” he agrees. “I’m on my way.”

He feels a little bad about ditching Laurens after he asked him to cut class for him, even though Laurens doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Pretty sure I still owe you for all the times I’ve given you the slip,” he jokes, and Alexander smiles, but it worries him. He doesn’t want Laurens to feel like he owes anything to him. Like they’re not equals in this relationship. That’s the reason it all went so spectacularly to shit the first time, after all, isn’t it?

They’re going to have to talk about it, Alexander decides. Just not now. Now it’s Angelica’s turn.

She’s sitting on the bar rather than standing behind it when Alexander comes through the Archive’s door almost an hour later, and that’s strange. Stranger still is the fact that Maria is sitting next to her, cradling a bottle of pretty expensive PDS booze. They both have bottles, actually, and they’re talking and laughing like close friends, which they are not. Not that Alexander knows of, at least.

What the hell is going on?

“About time, _cariño_!” Maria greets him. She sounds a little altered, but her bottle is almost full so Alexander’s best guess is that it’s her euphoria speaking, not the alcohol. “We were starting to think you stood us up.”

“Like I’d ever miss… whatever this is,” Alexander replies, a subtle question in his words.

“What does it look like this is, we’re celebrating!” Maria exclaims, twisting to grab a bottle from the shelf behind her. Yup, definitely not drunk. She’d already have fallen off the bar if she were.

She hands the bottle to Alexander, who accepts it with a hesitant _thanks_ and doesn’t open it. He really isn’t in the mood to celebrate. “Celebrating what, if I may ask?”

“I assume you already know my parents have dropped the charges against Eacker?” Angelica answers with another question.

He does. Not only that – that’s the primary reason why he’s not in the mood to celebrate. “And that makes you happy?” he wonders. He thought Angelica was all for dragging Eacker’s incompetent ass to court, but then again he also thought she’d never stand for segregation in her own bar.

That’s when Alexander realizes he’s standing in the living area, and Maria is sitting there, and nobody has asked – forced – them to go somewhere else. And by the looks of it, Maria has been here a while.

“No, it makes me fucking pissed,” Angelica sets things straight. Now she, she is a little tipsy. “I called my mom this morning but she told me there was no going back, it was already all in motion. And they weren’t going to change their minds anyway. She said they were doing it for Eliza, so that she can have some peace. Did you know some journalist ambushed her while she was taking out the trash the other day? Asked all sorts of questions about Philip and the case and how she was feeling? She was a mess when I got home.”

As a matter of fact, Alexander didn’t know. It does explain why she was so adamant about not wanting anything to do with the case, though. Alexander goes back to the conversation they had, tries to remember if he said anything nasty to her after she said she didn’t care about avenging Philip. He doesn’t think so. He really, really hope he’s right.

“Yeah. So really, how could I argue with that? Of course Eliza comes first. But that doesn’t mean that we should forget all about Philip, right? Or worse, let the world believe he was a criminal. He deserves a better legacy than that.” She looks meaningfully at Alexander, as if she knew that he was – is – worried about that as well. Maybe she does. She’s always been able to read him exceptionally well. “So I got thinking, and I remembered what you said yesterday. About the Archive being Philip’s second home. About you guys being his best friends. And I thought… I thought we could remember him here. The way he really was, not how the media are portraying him.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, Alexander has to give her that. It sucks that it’s all they get to do for Philip, but at least it’s something, isn’t it? “Sure. What did you have in mind? Some kind of memorial?”

Angelica shakes her head, and smiles. “No,” she says. “Not just some kind of memorial.” She spread her arms, pointing to the dark walls all around her. “I thought I’d get the place redecorated. Ask Laurens to paint a tribute to Philip right on these walls. Have you seen any of his graffiti? He’s really good.”

Alexander can’t help smiling at the excitement in her voice. That would be beautiful. He also can’t help looking for faults in the plan, though – it’s just the way he’s wired. “I love the plan, truly, but… You really think Jefferson will stand for PDS-themed graffiti inside his precious living-only area?”

“That’s the other thing – there’s no living-only area anymore. And no Jefferson either.” Angelica’s smile is turning into a big grin, and it’s so good to see it back after the anger and tears from last night. Especially since Alexander was responsible for them. “I’ve bought his share of the bar.”

“Feel like celebrating yet?” Maria asks right on cue, holding up her bottle.

Alexander clinks the neck of his own bottle against hers without hesitation. “You bet!” He turns to Angelica, feeling lighter than he has all day. God, he can’t believe he doubted her. She’s loyal and fierce and wonderful, he should have trusted her when she said she wasn’t washing her hands of the PDS cause. “How did it happen? Where did you get the money?”

“My parents, where else,“ she supplies. “They made Jefferson an offer that even the stubborn likes of you two couldn’t have refused.”

“That’s… wow. That’s awesome. Thank you so much.” Alexander swallows, adds, “Did you do it because of me?”

“Of course, you asshole!” Angelica exclaims, but she doesn’t really sound mad at him. “Because of what you said about Philip, and because… I felt bad about asking my parents for money, okay? But I realized I was going to feel much worse knowing I let all of you guys down. And if I’m going to feel guilty either way I’d rather do it in _my_ bar, that _I_ make all the decisions for. Starting with tearing that pulsist atrocity down,” she concludes, nodding in the direction of the segregated area.

“I already got dibs on the first blow,” Maria clarifies, jumping off the counter. “But you’re welcome to help, if you like.”

Alexander smiles. “Do you even have to ask?”

“I should have a few tools in the back,” Angelica says, raising her finger like she just remembered it. “I’ll be right back.”

She slides down the bar and disappears in the back room, leaving Alexander alone with Maria.

It dawns on him that they haven’t really talked since the day they won the trial and lost Philip. She didn’t come to the funeral because she couldn’t get out of her community service on time, she only sent him a text asking how he was doing and to tell Angelica and Eliza how sorry she was, and he replied and that was it.

“Hey there, stranger,” he says somewhat awkwardly.

Maria giggles. “Come on, it hasn’t been that long!”

“I don’t know. When was the trial? Two weeks ago?”

“Something like that.” She purses her lips. “I missed you. And the gang. I had a lot of fun at our party. You know, until…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Not that she needs to.

“Yeah,” Alexander agrees. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been focused on the case, and I didn’t know how much free time you had between your community service and work and your daughter.”

“Don’t sweat it. I didn’t call you either, did I?” She lets out a self-deprecating huff. “Guess we’re both kinda shitty at being friends with each other.”

“That’s good. It’s balanced,” Alexander points out.

“So true.”

They share a smile, and truth be told Alexander didn’t have the energy to miss Maria before, what with Philip dying and the trial and the Lafayette drama and the Laurens drama. He kinda does now, though. It doesn’t feel weird being around her after two weeks of radio silence – what feels weird is that those two weeks even happened. Can you retroactively miss someone?

“I missed you too, you know,” he tells her.

She smirks, and wiggles her eyebrows, and says, “I’m sure you did.”

Alexander bursts out laughing. “Actually, speaking of that… I’m sort of seeing someone. Well, not sort of. We’re dating.”

“Laurens?” Maria guesses without hesitation.

“How did you know?”

“Angelica might have mentioned something. You know, for a barista she’s kind of a lightweight. And she _talks_ when she drinks. She’s almost as bad as you. Like, a couple nights ago we were hanging out and I swear she didn’t have more than two glasses of wine, three at most, and she starts telling me about all the girls she was crushing on as a teenager. And believe me, some of that info was quite scandalous. Not the kind of things people of her lineage should want out in public – and I should know.”

“Really, she should know better,” Alexander agrees, and frowns. “I didn’t know you guys were hanging out.”

Maria shrugs. “We went out a couple times. Her idea. I think she might have needed that – you know, someone to talk to who wasn’t going through her grief. Someone she could just have some fun with.”

Alexander nods. “Thanks for being there for her. I’ve always known it, but I think it bears repeating – you’re incredibly cool.”

“Trust me, it was no sacrifice at all.” Maria looks meaningfully at the back room. “You think she died in there or something?”

“ _Angie! You okay?!_ ” Alexander calls.

The door opens. “Yeah,” Angelica confirms, coming out of the room with a hammer in each hand. It makes her look like a character from some splatter video game, but in a way that’s kinda cool. “I just thought I’d give you guys some privacy, let you talk things out.”

“Aww, how thoughtful,” Maria teases her. “I could even believe you if I didn’t know perfectly well that you can hear everything from that room.”

Alexander brings a hand to his heart in mock outrage. “Angelica! Were you eavesdropping on us?”

“Hey, do you want to put me on trial or do you want to help me tear this bad boy down?” she deflects, nodding in the direction of the segregated area.

Alexander and Maria exchange a glance. “Well. If you put it like that…”

The walls aren’t even proper walls at all, just wood panels, so they come down easily under their blows. Almost too easily. Alexander wanted to savor the moment, make it last as long as possible, but it’s only a handful of minutes of enthusiastic hammering before all that’s left of the walls of oppression is a pile of debris and a thin cloud of dust that sets all over the surrounding seats and tables.

It feels good, though. Alexander knows it’s the smallest of victories, it’s not like PDS sufferers are suddenly going to be treated right just because things are going to go back to normal at the Archive, just like some heartfelt decorations won’t bring Philip back. Still, it means the world to him. He’s got his safe haven back. He’s got his friend back, the bright, bold woman that’s currently hanging a sign that says “ALL drinkers welcome” in gray, white and red – the colors of the PDS liberation movement – on the bar’s window. Things might not be right, but they aren’t exactly all wrong either.

“Thank you so much,” Alexander tells Angelica, coming up behind her as she tries to decide if the sign is hanging straight enough. “Really.”

She turns to him and smiles. “Thank _you_. Don’t get me wrong, you were horrible to me last night, but I guess I needed the wake up call. I was so worried about keeping the Archive afloat that I forgot about keeping it the Archive, you know?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry though, being a pain in the ass is my specialty, I’m going to be here whenever you need…”

“Guys?” Maria interrupts them. She was leaning against the bar, checking her phone, but she’s standing straight up when Alexander and Angelica turn to her. Shock in her eyes, and something that could just as easily be terror or joy. “You need to take a look at this.”

She hands the phone to Angelica, who reads out loud: “ _NYPD officer killed in car crash. Authorities still looking into possible ULA involvement. Officer George Eacker, 27, died at noon today after a van deliberately crashed into his car as he was driving home from…_ Oh my god.”

“Fuck,” Alexander says.

He can’t reconcile his mind with his feelings. Eacker is dead. The guy who shot down little Philip without even thinking of looking for another solution and then went on TV to brag about how his brave, level-headed effort saved so many young lives, the guy Alexander wanted to destroy in court so badly, that guy is dead. Never to abuse his power again. Never to face the consequences of his actions, either.

Alexander should feel vindicated. Relieved, even, that such a horrible pulsist isn’t in a position to do any damage anymore. Why does it feel like he can’t breathe, then?

“This can’t be a coincidence, right?” he asks the girls. “It’s got to be ULA-related.”

“I don’t know. This isn’t really their style,” Angelica argues. “All their attacks up to this point have been random. Their only purpose seemed to be to kill the highest possible number of living. Why would they waste resources on a single target now, and such a low-profile one as Eacker too?”

“And after all these months of inactivity,” Maria adds. “You’d think they’d have planned a bigger comeback.”

They have a point, but Alexander can’t shake a horrible feeling. “Yeah, well, Philip’s case was kind of a big deal. Maybe they saw this as a chance to look like the hero to thousands of PDS sufferers angered by the Schuylers’ decision. Maybe _they_ were angered, and couldn’t suffer to stand there and do nothing about it. Maybe they thought they were the only ones who could make Eacker get what he deserved.”

Horror chills his veins as those last words come out of his mouth. He remembers the fire in Laurens’ voice, the anger. _They’ll get what they deserve_ , he told Alexander, and it sounded nothing like an empty reassurance. It sounded like a promise. He remembers sitting on the couch at 3B, listening to Laurens argue that they needed more than campaigns and petitions. That the ULA could be the solution.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Angelica asks.

Maria is looking at him with the same worried expression.

“Yeah,” Alexander reassures them. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I was just thinking that…”

His phone starts ringing. It’s like Laurens read his mind or something.

“Baby, hi.” Alexander forces out the endearment as a sort of self-reassurance. It’s just a day like any other, it tells him. Well, maybe not exactly, but it’s not the day he finds out his boyfriend has been a terrorist all along either. He’s already lost his case and his job and Angelica is finally the sole owner of the Archive and Eacker is dead. Enough has happened today. Today’s crazy quota has already been filled, thanks a lot, you can try stopping by again tomorrow. “Did you hear about Eacker?”

“Yes, I… heard about Eacker,” Laurens says, and it’s enough to blow away what little confidence Alexander had about the situation, because Laurens’ voice sounds all wrong and broken.

“Wait, are you crying? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Alexander. I’m so sorry. I’m the biggest fucking idiot ever.”

Alexander is really scared now. “Look, whatever happened we can sort it out, okay? I promise. Just tell me where you are.”

There’s a shaky silence on the other end. Then, Alexander’s world turns upside down.

“I’m with Mulligan, and as soon as I’m done saying goodbye he’s going to shoot me.”


	38. In which Alexander defuses a bomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been a while since I've welcomed y'all with a super important PSA, so have two:
> 
> 1\. Thank you so SO much for all the yelling and cussing and death threats about the previous chapter. I was too chicken to reply to each and every one in person but I did read them all and I appreciated the hell out of them. I love you guys too <3 ;P
> 
> 2\. For some reason (i.e. my all-encompassing ineptitude) I didn't count the epilogue when I filled in the chapter number squares, so there's actually one more update coming. Woohoo! It's way shorter than a normal chapter so I won't make you go through the trouble of coming back in two weeks to read it. I'm not sure when to post it, though – which means I could be persuaded to do it as early as later today ;] You can expect it to be up before Monday, anyway.
> 
> Okay I'm done. Enjoy, and remember that this is your second-to-last chance to hit the comments' section. Hint hint ;]

The good thing about having the whole world spinning madly around him is that it forces Alexander to focus on what he does have a modicum of control over – namely, himself. He might not know what the hell is going on with Laurens and Mulligan, but he sure as hell can try and stop himself from descending the spiraling staircase into a panic attack that’s going to help no one.

So he does. He takes a deep breath, a swig at the bottle Maria opened for him earlier, and he tries his hardest to be the cold and rational one because someone fucking has to.

“Mulligan is going to shoot you,” he says slowly. He could repeat it a hundred times and it wouldn’t sound any less crazy. “Why?”

On the other end, Laurens is still breathing shakily. “ _Because_. I’m the biggest fucking idiot and I can’t do anything right and this is the only way, okay? We’ve talked about it and I’m… I’m kind of okay with it. I know it’s for the best.”

He sounds completely genuine, and Alexander feels sick. Whatever is going on, he can’t believe Mulligan would use Laurens’ own issues against him like this. “Laurens, listen to me. No scenario where you end up dead is the best scenario, are we clear? It’s not even an acceptable one.”

“I love you so much, Alexander,” Laurens says, in a way that sounds too little like assent and too much like a goodbye.

“I love you too, and I’m going to fix this,” Alexander promises. “Mulligan’s with you, right? Put him on the phone.”

“I don’t know if he…” Laurens starts, but then there’s some muffled noise in the background, and next thing Alexander knows it’s Mulligan on the other end.

“Hi, Hams,” he says, and at least he has the decency to sound as upset as ever.

“What the fuck is going on, man?” Alexander explodes. “And you should know that the only acceptable answer is that you two are playing me a very insensitive prank, or maybe that Laurens took some bad mushrooms and is seriously tripping, because I’m not going to believe that you’re really holding a gun to your friend’s head.”

“Come see for yourself, then,” Mulligan says. “We’re on the roof.”

He disconnects.

 

Mulligan isn’t really holding a gun to Laurens’ head. They’re both sitting on the roof when Alexander finds them, a little way away from the spot where Alexander and Laurens stood the previous night, legs crossed, both looking down.

Mulligan isn’t holding a gun to Laurens’ head, but he’s holding a gun alright, and when Alexander meets his eyes and sees the hard regret in them he has no doubt that he’s absolutely prepared to shoot.

“I didn’t tell you to bring an audience,” Mulligan chastises him, eyeing Angelica and Maria. He’s acting tough, but Alexander isn’t buying it.

“They were with me when you called,” he defends himself. Not that he needs to – he’s positive Mulligan lost every right to criticize his actions when he decided to try and kill his boyfriend. “Couldn’t exactly shake them off.”

“What the hell is this, guys?” Angelica cuts to the chase, and Alexander is grateful for it because the sooner they understand what the problem is, the sooner he can fix it and Laurens can stop looking like he is now. Not sad or angry, just… empty. Like he’s already dead.

He only looks up when Mulligan pokes him and asks, “Well? Wanna tell them what you did, so they can stop looking at me like I’m the bad guy in all this?”

Laurens nods, stands up. Fixes his eyes on Alexander. “I lied to you,” he confesses. “About cutting ties with the ULA. I, uh… I wasn’t seeing a therapist at home. Or well, I was, but not for therapy reasons. She was my ULA contact.”

“Oh shit,” Angelica says, taking a step back. Maria touches her arm, a small attempt at comforting her – and maybe herself as well.

There’s no comforting anyone right now, though. Laurens’ revelation exploded between them like a Big Bang, forever changing the world as they knew it.

“No,” Alexander protests, shaking his head. “It can’t be true. You were doing better, you were doing so much better lately!”

“Yes,” Laurens agrees. “The ULA helped me. No, you’re right to look at me like that, but you have no idea what it felt like. I finally had a purpose. I belonged, and I really thought I could do something good for once, and… I don’t know. It was addicting.”

“You already belonged somewhere,” Alexander reminds him with a broken voice. “All of us here, we’re your family. Laf too. Why can’t we be enough for you?”

“Of course you are! I’m the one who’s not enough,” Laurens says. “I couldn’t save Laf or be the kind of person you needed me to be or do anything right by Mulligan. I was worthless. And I couldn’t keep feeling like that, I had to do something.”

“Like join a terrorist organization? And…” Alexander puts the pieces together. “Asking them to take out Eacker for us?”

“What?” Angelica and Maria burst out almost in unison.

Laurens bites his lip and looks down, not even trying to hide his guilt.

Forget changing his mind, Alexander is going to ask Mulligan for the gun and shoot Laurens himself. How could he be so stupid?

“Why did you do that?” he needs to know. “We didn’t need Eacker to die, we just needed him convicted.”

“I know. But that wasn’t happening and I… I couldn’t stand for that. He killed Philip, Alexander,” Laurens reminds him, as if Alexander could ever forget, and there’s tears in his voice. “He didn’t deserve to get away with it. He didn’t deserve to think he was entitled… That he did a _good_ thing. All these privileged bastards, they need to understand that there are consequences.”

“Yeah? And what are your consequences?” Alexander asks, and it sounded less harsh in his head. He’s tired, though. Tired of Laurens thinking every little wrong thing in the world is his responsibility.

And Laurens is so down that he probably thinks he deserves it anyway. He nods in the direction of Mulligan, still sitting behind him with his gun. The silent executioner.

“You’re looking at them,” Laurens says. “It’s either that or the ULA hurting my family to retaliate. Maybe you guys as well. See, that’s why me dying is the best scenario.”

“I don’t get it,” Angelica admits. “Are they blackmailing you? I thought you were one of them.”

Laurens shrugs. “So did they. But evidently I’m not, since they’ve been pushing me to go on one of their missions and I keep finding an excuse not to do it.”

“What kind of mission?” Alexander asks, even though he isn’t sure he wants to know. ULA terrorists are PDS sufferers that take Blue Oblivion in a crowd of defenseless living and let their rabid instincts guide them through the massacre. They’re usually gunned down within minutes – yeah, sometimes NYPD takes down real threats too. It’s kinda hard to imagine a living doing the same, so what could the ULA want from Laurens?

“I know people in the neurotryptiline industry,” Laurens explains. “And I was dumb enough to mention it to my contact a couple weeks ago. They’ve been on my case ever since. That should have been my wake up call, really. How can you claim to be fighting for PDS rights and then try and spike everyone’s medication with Blue Oblivion?”

Alexander shudders at the thought. Most people take their medicine at home. About 70% of PDS sufferers need someone else’s help to get their shot of neurotryptiline – family or friends or social workers that couldn’t put up much of a fight if the patience they’re assisting turned super rabid because of the Blue Oblivion in their medicine and tried to tear them apart. Alexander thinks back to all the times Laurens gave him his shot when he wasn’t feeling well enough to take him by himself, tries to imagine what it would have been like to regain consciousness only to find out he accidentally killed his best friend.

He gives up after a second. He’s already feeling shitty enough as it is.

“So they want you to tamper with the medicine,” Maria is saying, disgusted.

Laurens nods. “Yeah, and I tried to distance myself from them when they kept insisting, but then… You were so sad this morning, Alexander, and I was mad at Eacker and the living, so I got in touch with Samuel, you know, from Spring of Light, and I asked him to do something about it. I thought they’d be happy to, they had a lot to gain from an operation like that anyway, but apparently it wasn’t enough ‘cause now they want me to mess up the neurotryptiline in exchange. And they’re saying I owe them and if I don’t pay back my debt they’re going to collect from the people I love or some gangster shit like that.”

He stops and looks at Mulligan, an undecipherable question in his eyes. The answer must be yes, anyway, because Mulligan nods and Laurens carries on talking.

“So I told them I’d do it, and they gave me all the drugs, and when they find me dead they’re going to think the Sons of Liberty stopped me before I could complete the mission and they’re going to leave my loved ones alone.”

Alexander closes his eyes. They feel like he’s been staring at the sun too long. “Laurens…”

“I know,” he says. “I know I fucked up, okay? And like you said, I’m going to have to accept the consequences. I just wanted to tell you the truth because… maybe this way you can forgive me. Not for trusting the ULA, that was the stupidest thing I could do and I know you have no patience for stupid people, but for breaking my promise to be with you today.” He takes Alexander’s hands in his, hesitantly, and he smiles weakly when Alexander squeezes. “I’m sorry. I wanted to do this, I really did. I wish I’d met you before I got this fucking _broken_.”

Alexander rests his forehead against Laurens’ and whispers _It’s okay_ , even though it really isn’t. Part of him was relieved to hear Laurens talk like this, to know that he hasn’t been compromised to the point of not knowing right from wrong anymore, but that’s exactly what makes it so painful to know there’s a really good chance he won’t survive. It doesn’t matter that he’s still himself for the most part, if it’s up to him and Mulligan he’s going to end up dead like all the properly brainwashed ULA terrorists. Like his friend Gal, who…

Who was conveniently gunned down right before he could complete his ULA mission.

“Mulligan?” Alexander asks, pulling away from Laurens, a sudden suspicion rising inside him. “How did you know about Laurens before everyone else?”

“He found me,” Laurens supplies. “Right after I talked to Samuel. I was a mess and I told him everything, and he… we came up with the plan together.”

Of course they did. For what seems like the hundredth time today, Alexander feels the world shatter around him. He’s not getting used to it anytime soon, that’s for sure.

“Mulligan, I need to talk to you,” he decides. “Alone.”

“Look, I don’t want to do this either, you have to…” Mulligan starts explaining himself.

Alexander won’t have it, though. He needs to ask Mulligan a very important question and he doesn’t think he’ll answer it honestly in front of so many witnesses.

So he turns and walks away from the roof and back inside, and he’s only halfway down the first flight of stairs when Mulligan catches up with him.

“Wait!” he calls after Alexander.

Who stops. Turns. “Yes?”

Mulligan’s expression betrays no emotion as he takes the few steps that bring him face to face with Alexander and says: “Fine, let’s talk. Remember that Laurens is up on that roof waiting to die, though, and it’s cruel to prolong his suffering. We should be quick.”

“Has he talked to Lafayette yet?” Alexander asks, already ignoring Mulligan’s suggestion because this has nothing to do with what he really wants to talk about.

Mulligan shakes his head, mutters something about not being sure it’s the best moment to spring this on Lafayette. Like it’s something they can postpone. But he must be terrified of what Lafayette is going to think of him after he finds out he killed one of his best friends, and Alexander feels a little sorry for him because he has a million reasons not to do this, and he still wants to see it through ‘cause he’s convinced it’s the right thing.

“We do have a little time, then,” Alexander points out. “There’s no way Laurens is going to die without saying goodbye to Laf.” If it’s up to Alexander there’s no way he’s going to die, period, but he’s still working on that plan.

Mulligan nods, resigned, and sits on one of the steps. “So. Is this the part where you tell me Laurens doesn’t deserve to die? Because I know it already. And I’m open to better solutions if you have one, but…”

Again, still working on it. “Did you kill Gal?” Alexander asks instead.

The question catches Mulligan completely unprepared, but he doesn’t betray anything other than confusion. Oh, he’s good. “Gal? With everything that’s happening, you’re thinking about Gal?”

“He was your friend, he was shot in mysterious circumstances,” Alexander reminds him, counting on his fingers, “and he had Blue Oblivion on him when he was found, I seem to recall. So yeah, I’m thinking about him. Specifically about how much Laurens’ death is going to resemble his, if you two go through with your stupid plan.”

“We… might have been inspired by his situation,” Mulligan admits. “I thought the ULA would believe it more easily if it’s something that’s already happened to one of them.”

“And you just happened to find Laurens at the time when he was most vulnerable? Like you just happened to find out Gal’s charity was a front for the ULA? Or to know for _sure_ that he was a terrorist?” The more Alexander thinks about it, the less sense it makes. Unless. “Wait a second. That’s why NYPD owes you so many favors, isn’t it? You’re some kind of informant. You pretend to be friends with PDS people at risk and then you fuck them over.”

“Look, man, you’re upset,” Mulligan dismisses him. “I get it. But you shouldn’t go around making accusations when you’re not thinking clearly.”

“I think I’m thinking clearly for the first time, actually. You know way too much, and I never really questioned it before because I took it for granted that you were one of the good guys, but now…”

“Now what?” Mulligan snaps, but there’s only a little anger in his voice, and a lot of hurt. “Now I’m suddenly the enemy? There’s a terrorist up there and you want him to walk free, but sure, _I’m_ the one who betrayed everyone’s trust.”

“I’m not saying that,” Alexander protests. “I know Laurens fucked up, okay? But he knows that too. He’s not a terrorist, he’s… a failed wannabe terrorist at most. Eacker aside, he never wanted to kill anyone, and you don’t really want to kill him either. You said it yourself, he doesn’t deserve to die. That’s why we’re stuck on this roof trying to figure out who the hell we all are.”

“I already know who I am,” Mulligan says, somewhat weakly. His holds his head up, then, and remembers: “I’m someone who swore an oath, and I’m going to uphold it.”

“What oath?” Alexander inquires.

Mulligan stares at him for a long moment, expression guarded, mind working fast. Trying to figure out the next step, maybe. Or how much he really trusts Alexander? This is crazy. This whole day is crazy.

“Mulligan, come on. You know me.”

“I’m with the Sons of Liberty,” he confesses, standing up. As if to remind Alexander of how big he is. “Been with them since I left the treatment center. You heard about us, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Alexander remembers. “When we infiltrated the ULA, ages ago. It’s the group that took out Gal, right?” He didn’t mean it as an accusation, not really, but he’s perfectly aware that it kind of is one.

“We’re the group that makes sure PDS terrorists don’t fuck things up for everyone else,” Mulligan amends. “But yes. Stopping Gal from going rabid in the middle of Times Square was part of it.”

“So you did kill him.”

Without really noticing, Alexander takes a step back. It was one thing to suspect it, but nothing could prepare him for the shock and heartbreak of having that suspicion confirmed. Because Gal might have become bad, but he was also Mulligan’s friend, once upon a time. And if Mulligan knew about his mission, he must have known he was ULA all along – and chosen to use him instead of trying to help him. Like he must have done with Laurens this last month.

Mulligan’s eyes are hard. “My orders were to watch him. See if he could lead us to something bigger than that pathetic excuse for an operation the ULA got going here in New York. But when I found out about the attack it was already too late, HQ didn’t have time to send in a team.”

“So you killed him.”

“I saved dozens of people.”

That’s beside the point. “And Laurens and Laf never knew.”

“Didn’t you hear the part about Gal planning an attack right in the heart of Manhattan?” Mulligan argues. “I’m sorry, but some things are more important than being honest with your friends.”

It sounds like a joke coming from him, and Alexander laughs, but it’s strained and angry. “So this is what you do? Watch your friends sell their souls to terrorists and do nothing? Use them until they become too dangerous?”

“It’s not like I forced them to believe that radical brainwashing bullshit!” Mulligan bursts out. “They chose that on their own free will. They’re the ones who threw their lives away.”

“But you could still have helped them! People don’t become terrorists because it’s cool, you know. They’re pushed into it by the shit that happens to them. Maybe if you’d…”

“Oh, don’t try that on me. You wanna hear about the shit that happens? Try having a fucking dealer for a dad, and a big brother that gets shot at 14 because of him. Try living with a mom that’s burnt out on dope and cheap booze and whatever she can take to stop thinking about them. I know what it means to get fucked over by life, okay? Believe me, I know it better than anyone. Doesn’t mean I’ll start going around killing innocents, though. And I know it’s the same with you and Laf and so many other good people, so why should privileged assholes like Gal and Laurens get a pass?”

His words wash over Alexander in a waterfall of pain and pride and pent-up rage, and Alexander is left gasping for air. He wants to hug his friend, or at least throw an arm around his shoulder, tell him how incredible it is that he went through all that shit and still managed to come out on top. That he’s right, they’re more alike than Alexander ever suspected.

They’re still in a fight, though, and Alexander isn’t going to give up just because he feels sorry for Mulligan.

“Not everyone is as strong as us,” he points out. “We might have survived on our own, but that doesn’t mean everyone else can. Hell, they shouldn’t have to. Isn’t that what being human is all about? Being there for each other to make things a little less miserable?”

“You’re talking about terrorists,” Mulligan reminds him.

“I’m talking about the guy I love,” Alexander counters. “Your friend. You could have helped him, convinced him to talk to someone, especially if you saw what happened to Gal. Instead you just used him as your fucking mole, and we’re lucky he’s one of the good ones ‘cause otherwise he wouldn’t be up on that roof waiting to die right now, he’d be… what was it that you said? Fucking things up for everyone?”

“I would have stopped him,” Mulligan argues, and Alexander doesn’t doubt for a second that he’s telling the truth. “Why do you think I found him so quickly? I was already there to stop him. But he confessed everything as soon as he saw me and asked me what to do. Sometimes it pays to be friends with your mark.”

He’s talking like he looked before, without betraying the slightest emotion, and it’s driving Alexander crazy. “Do you enjoy this?” he bursts out.

“Yes, Alexander, I always enjoy shooting one of my close friends after lunch,” Mulligan replies, sarcastic and more than a little put out. “What do you think? Reporting Gal was bad enough, but this… This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I love that fucking idiot, alright? You might not believe me but I really do. He’s the screwup little brother I never had.” He sniffs, hands buried deep in his pockets. “And I did tell you to stay away from those terrorists, if you remember, but after that… I had orders to follow, Hamilton. All I could do was watch from a distance, and yes, it was unfair and horrible, but I had no other choice. You have no idea how relieved I was when he told his ULA contact to fuck off and he started worrying about college and Laf and you two got back together. I thought he was finally getting his life back on track. But like he said – it’s a drug. Looks like he couldn’t stay away.”

“And now he’s going to die because of it.”

“Unless you have a better plan.”

Alexander doesn’t. Why is he the one that’s supposed to have a plan anyway? Mulligan and Laurens are elbow-deep into this spy shit. _They_ should know the insides and outs of the business, enough to come up with an effective solution. Or, if that’s too hard to do under so much pressure, there should be guidelines. Standard procedures that someone higher up on the chain of command thought up for situations just like this one.

There already is a standard procedure, though, Alexander remembers. It’s the one Mulligan is going to go through with if Alexander can’t think of anything better. _So think of something better._

“What if we…” he starts, more to get the ball rolling than anything, but he’s distracted by the sound of someone coming up the stairs. Coming quickly up the stairs, and pretty loudly too, even factoring in Alexander’s super PDS-hearing.

“Who’s there?” Mulligan hollers down.

“Who’d you think?” Lafayette’s voice replies, booming up the stairs. “Angelica just texted me. What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mulligan?”

“See, this is why you don’t bring in outsiders,” Mulligan complains to Alexander. “This execution is getting way too crowded.”

“He deserves to be here,” Alexander argues.

Mulligan looks at him with sad, sad eyes. “No,” he says. “Nobody does.”

That’s when Lafayette catches up with them, and Alexander has never seen him like this. Not when Alexander got him worried out of his mind after their King’s College protest, not even during his worst flashbacks. His eyes are wild, frantic with terror and fear, but everything else is tightly restrained in a way that makes Alexander feel it won’t be pretty when he eventually explodes. Even his voice is uncharacteristically low.

“This isn’t true, right? You’re not really going to hurt Laurens?” he asks Mulligan.

Who looks right back at him, and for a moment there’s a glint of an emotion in his eyes. Shame or sadness. But then he blinks, and his voice is controlled too when he says: “You shouldn’t be here, Laf.”

Lafayette shakes his head sadly. “What is wrong with you?” he asks in a whisper.

This time, Mulligan can’t quite mask the hurt on his face, so he turns and starts going back up instead. “I give up. I’m done trying to convince you guys. Hate me if you want to, but I’m going to do what must be done.”

“Stop!” Lafayette calls after him, but Mulligan doesn’t reply, doesn’t even look back at him, and all Lafayette can do is start to climb the stairs after him. 

He’s two steps behind Alexander all the way up, but the second they walk outside to the roof and he spots Laurens he bolts to his side, throwing his arms around him with such desperate affection that Angelica and Maria, who were sitting next to Laurens, have to get up quickly to avoid getting crushed.

For some reason the sight breaks Alexander’s heart more than anything else that happened today.

“Okay then,” Mulligan cuts in after a little while. “You got to see everyone one last time. Ready to go?”

Laurens nods bravely and stands up.

Angelica bursts out laughing.

Everyone turns to look at her, five perfect masks of bafflement and concern.

“What?” she asks after a long, awkward moment. “Come on, you’ve got to admit it’s funny. It all looks so dramatic and _dumb_ … As if there’s one chance in hell that Mulligan is really prepared to execute Laurens, and we’re all just going to stand here and let him do it.”

That’s it. That’s why Alexander hasn’t been feeling as desperate as Lafayette looks. Why he hasn’t had a complete breakdown yet. His brain won’t accept that this is happening for real. It can’t. Angelica is right, who would ever believe that any of them is going to let Laurens die?

Laurens, maybe, but he’s on his own.

“It’s the only way, Angelica,” he tells her. “It’s either I die here today, or I watch everyone I care about die and then probably get killed by the ULA myself. They don’t let you leave them. Not alive, at least.”

“Who are _they_ supposed to be, exactly?” Alexander wants to know. “That bunch of hippies we met back at Spring of Light? ‘cause they didn’t look all that threatening to me. And you said it yourself, Mulligan, the New York cell is pretty insignificant. I bet your guys could wipe it out in…”

He stops for a second. This is it. This is what they’re going to do.

“You could do it, couldn’t you?” he asks Mulligan. “You could tell your superiors that the whole Spring of Light gang is planning something big and they must be stopped. They can’t come after us if they’re all dead.”

“What superiors?” Maria asks, not missing a beat. The others look pretty shocked too.

“Thank you, Hams,” Mulligan grumbles, but he isn’t really mad, and that gives Alexander hope. If Mulligan is in a forgiving mood even with all that’s going on, it might mean that he sees some merit in Alexander’s plan after all. “I’m with an intelligence organization called the Sons of Liberty. We’re not part of the government, but we work pretty closely with them.”

That, of course, prompts a series of shocked reaction that Alexander could understand perfectly if time wasn’t of the essence.

“So,” he tries to get back on track, “I guess you guys have the resources to get rid of Spring of Light once and for all, right?”

“Can you call in a raid with no real evidence?” Angelica wonders.

“We do have evidence,” Alexander reminds her. Oh yes, this is so going to work. “All the Blue Oblivion they gave Laurens. I bet they could use it for a lot of attacks.”

“A couple dozens,” Laurens supplies worryingly quickly. “More, if they take the drugs out of the vial and give every agent just the dosage they need to go rabid for ten minutes or so.”

Alexander smiles at him in spite of everything. “I’m really glad you could never become one of them. You would have been terrifying.”

“So do you think it can work? You can do it?” Lafayette asks Mulligan, his eyes pleading. There’s no trace of the hurt and distrust of a few minutes ago. They’ve all gone back to being a team again.

Alexander is quite convinced that that’s the main reason why Mulligan says: “Yeah. I think I can.” He turns to Laurens then, voice grave. “But remember – I’m sacrificing the work of a year to save you. Most of the intel we got on the ULA, we got from the Spring of Light cell. There’s going to be more attacks, not just in the city but in the rest of the state, and innocent people are going to die, and I’m going to have to live with the doubt – could that have been prevented? Could we have stopped the attack if I hadn’t thrown everything to the wind to clean up your mess?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Laurens says quickly – before anyone can stop him, Alexander realizes. “Really. You’re right, I can’t be so selfish. I’m not going to let anyone get hurt because of me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alexander starts, and he’s got a whole speech already on the tip of his tongue, but Mulligan beats him to it.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my friend, of course I’m going to save you over some stupid leads. I just want you to know, though – I want you to live with my same doubt and regret. Who knows, maybe next time you’ll think twice before you play with fire like this.”

Laurens looks like he’d much rather take the bullet. Alexander gets it, and the overprotective part of him is outraged at Mulligan for talking this way to someone with Laurens’ self-worth issues. The guy already feels guilty about everything, does he really need to hear that the mistake he made may cost other people their lives?

Yes, the rational part of Alexander decides. Because as much as he wants to protect Laurens, he was right before. Actions have consequences, and Laurens is going to have to face his sooner or later.

Alexander rests a gentle hand on Laurens’ neck, squeezing just a little in reassurance. “Come on,” he invites, “let’s let Mulligan work his magic. We can wait for news in the apartment.”

“Yeah, I should go too,” Angelica says. “I still have some work to do at the bar. Keep me posted, though, okay?”

“Of course,” Mulligan promises, and the exchange is so normal, so trivial even, that it feels strange and out of place after everything that’s happened.

It’s okay, though. It means things are going to be okay.

Maria goes with Angelica, although it’s unclear whether they’re going to spend more time together or she’s got some business of her own to take care of, while Lafayette comes down to 3B with Alexander and Laurens. It’s tense and awkward – not the triumphal homecoming Alexander hoped for after sorting everything out. Laurens won’t talk, and his eyes are glistening with unspilled tears, and the fact that he must be catching every single one of the worried glances Alexander and Lafayette keep exchanging isn’t probably helping.

He goes straight to his room once they’re in the apartment, and Alexander would much rather he stayed to talk things out, or even just to try and forget today’s rollercoaster of trauma by hanging with him, talking about the most pointless stuff that comes to mind. He doesn’t go after him, though.

So it’s just him and Lafayette. Lafayette who takes one sad look at the door Laurens just disappeared behind, sighs, and walks to their liquor cabinet.

“You’re not going to judge me if I have a drink, right?” he asks.

“Only if you don’t share,” Alexander replies.

Lafayette smiles at him and fetches a second glass.

They drink right there at the kitchen island, too exhausted to even walk the few steps to the couch. Or maybe it’s because even occupying the living room area of the apartment would feel like they’re stepping into Laurens’ territory. It’s weird, they fought so hard to save his life but now they’re not exactly dying to be near him.

Alexander banishes the thought from his mind, disgusted with himself. No wonder Laurens can’t bear to look them in the eyes if even the guy that’s supposed to love him is failing him already. It doesn’t matter what happened, he isn’t supposed to see him under a completely different light so quickly.

“How are you feeling?” he asks Lafayette after they’ve both taken the first sip of their drink in desolate silence.

Lafayette makes a face. “Like I still can’t tell reality and nightmares apart.”

“I feel you. Today was one colossal mindfuck, I keep expecting to wake up and find out none of it really happened. I mean, terrorists?”

“Can you believe I’m more upset about Mulligan than about Laurens?” Lafayette reveals. “I don’t know why. Maybe because after Gal I was a little more prepared. Or because Laurens’ mind was always a bit of a mystery to me, while I was sure I knew Mulligan.”

“Really? It’s always been the other way round for me. I mean, it’s a pain to get Laurens to talk about feelings and stuff, but at least he’s pretty open about his life. All I ever got from Mulligan are weird jokes that might as well be 100% serious and only make things even more confusing.”

“Yeah. I thought he just had a strange sense of humor.”

“Everybody did.”

“But not everybody was his best friend.”

Alexander pours them both another round. They need it.

“You want to compare heartbreaks?” he asks. “Your best friend has been some sort of spy since before you even met him, and hasn’t been allowed to tell you. My boyfriend almost let a bunch of terrorists brainwash him, partly because he felt like he wasn’t good enough for me, and got a cop killed, mostly because he felt like he was doing me a favor. Oh, and he didn’t just make all these stupid decision without asking for my opinion, he deliberately hid them from me because he already knew I was going to tell him they were batshit.”

God, it sounds even worse when it’s spelled out loud.

“Fair enough, you win,” Lafayette concedes. “So I assume you’re breaking up with him?”

“I don’t know,” Alexander replies sincerely. “I still love him, and I’m way more worried about him than mad at him right now, but this was… I mean, none of what happened this afternoon was normal. And I can’t help feeling it happened because of me.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. You’re not responsible for Laurens’ actions.”

“I know, I know. I’m not feeling guilty or anything. I’m just saying – I thought we could do this thing together, but maybe he was right all along. Maybe being in a relationship is only going to mess him up even more right now.”

“Maybe,” Lafayette echoes unhelpfully, and there goes Alexander’s hope to have someone find an answer for him. He doesn’t even know why he thought his friend would swoop in with his inside knowledge and save the day. Maybe it’s because he did it before. At this point it doesn’t mean much that he’s known Laurens for longer, though. This is uncharted territory for everyone.

Still. Alexander needs reassurance, and Lafayette is the only person he knows that’s kind and sensible enough to give it to him.

“Do you think we did the right thing?” he asks.

Lafayette thinks about it. “I don’t know if it was the right thing,” he finally admits. “But we did the only thing we could.” He looks behind Alexander, as if he was afraid Laurens might be hearing them. Or maybe as if he hoped he were. “I’m wondering if we could have done more before, though. It really didn’t have to come to this.”

“No,” Alexander agrees, “but like you said, this was Laurens’ responsibility first. We were there for him, all of us. It was up to him to ask for our help rather than lie and pretend everything was under control.”

Lafayette looks at him weird. “Is this the part where you try to turn this into a life lesson for me?”

“Could be,” Alexander admits. 

“I’m not lying to myself,” Lafayette protests. “I know I need help. But I also know there’s no way seeing a doctor can make me better. Just thinking about it makes me…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, pouring himself another drink instead. There’s a slight tremor in his hand.

Point taken.

“There’s other ways, you know,” Alexander says. He doesn’t know how they stopped talking about Laurens’ issues and moved on to Laf’s, but he doesn’t mind. At least with Laf he feels like he’s still sure about something. “You can get professional help without seeing an actual doctor. And Laurens says there’s mutual support groups too, Eliza knows a few. You’re good at those, right?”

“I did group therapy at the treatment center as well. Hours and hours just talking about our own guilt.”

“Okay, but this would be different. You’d be surrounded with people that actually want to help each other.”

“And what if I don’t help them?” Lafayette asks, tipsy panic rising in his voice. “What if I just make things worse for everyone else?”

Alexander takes his hand. “You won’t,” he promises. “Facilitators are there to help, remember? They’re going to look out for everyone. And you can’t afford to think this way now. You’ve been through hell and back, you deserve to put yourself before everyone else until you’re better. You kinda have to.”

Lafayette nods into his glass. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll give it a try.”

Alexander smiles. At least one good thing came out of all this mess.

“ _C'est du beau travail,_ Hammie. You win. You can leave me alone now.” Lafayette gestures in the direction of the rooms. “Go talk to Laurens.”

“Come on, it so wasn’t about that. I just want…“ Alexander starts protesting.

“Hams?” Lafayette cuts him off, looking very serious again. “I’m worried about him. Please, _please_ go.”

Alexander doesn’t want to. There’s alcohol here, and uncomplicated friendship, while on the other side of the door… on the other side of the door Laurens is lying in the warm light of the May afternoon, wishing once again that he were dead. It doesn’t matter how far from ready he feels, Alexander has to go to him.

He opens the door only a little, just what it takes to slide inside the room. Laurens is lying on his bed just like Alexander was expecting, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He doesn’t even acknowledge Alexander’s presence.

Alexander takes a deep breath.

“Knock knock,” he says.

“I really can’t right now,” Laurens’ voice groans, wrecked. “Can you leave me alone? Please?”

“I’d love to, but you’re not alone,” Alexander counters, sitting at the end of his bed. “You’re with that mean voice in your head again, and there’s no way I’m letting it steal you away from me.”

He was going for cute and reassuring, but he must mess it up in some way because Laurens starts sobbing all of a sudden.

“Hey,” Alexander murmurs, leaning over him. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Laurens meets his eyes for a second and shakes his head. “How can you still be nice to me after what I’ve done?”

Right to the heart of the matter, then. The worst part is that Alexander has no idea. It’s all instinct – if Laurens is feeling like shit, he’s going to try and make it better because that’s what they do. They’re there for each other. Sometimes even too much so.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not going to say what you did is okay, because it isn’t. It’s a hundred percent fucked up, and it worries me. It makes me think that you might have been right all along, that we might be terrible for each other right now.”

“We?” Laurens echoes, incredulous. “I’m the only one who’s terrible.”

“Stop it,” Alexander sighs. He wants to tell Laurens that he’s not terrible, he’s awesome. That the way he keeps talking himself down, that’s the only thing that’s wrong with him. Every other fault, true or perceived, is just a by-product of that.

But he’s done that too many times already, and he isn’t sure he’s going to sound like he still believes it.

“It’s been a long, shitty day, and we’re both too messed up to have any big talks right now,” he says instead, and pats Laurens’ shoulder once. “Scoot over.”

Laurens frowns but complies, almost automatically, and Alexander lies next to him. Mulligan’s bed is a little wider than the one they sometimes shared in their old room, but they’re still squished pretty close together.

“What are you doing?” Laurens asks, his mouth mere inches from Alexander’s.

“I don’t want to sort things out just yet,” he confesses, his fingers already tracing patterns on Laurens’ elbow. “Can we just be for a while? Just lie here and not think about all the shit we have to figure out?”

Laurens nods. “Yeah,” he says, and he lets Alexander pull him closer, buries his head in his neck. “I’d really like that.”

 

Later, long after Laurens has stopped crying and a little after Mulligan has texted them that the operation was a success, Spring of Light is no more, Alexander pulls himself up so that he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. Laurens does the same, his hair all mussed up, and it takes some effort not to reach over and brush it back in place for him. Or not to push him back down and kiss him stupid.

“Ready now?” Laurens asks, and Alexander nods.

They have things to figure out. Laurens especially, but Alexander doesn’t expect him to do it without a little push.

“I love you,” he begins, because that much he knows already. “I really, really do, and that… I guess it might have changed if you’d actually gone through with your ULA mission, but you didn’t, and if idiotic recklessness were a turn-off for me I’d never have fallen for you in the first place.”

“You know I never would have done that, right?” Laurens asks, and his voice is shaking a little again. “I got in touch with the ULA because I wanted to help PDS sufferers. I was never going to hurt them, no matter what greater good might have come of it.”

“What about the living? Would you hurt them?”

“Eacker deserved it,” Laurens replies without hesitation. “And so do the bastards that ganged up on you. Haven’t we always believed in this? In making our own justice when nobody else would?”

“Not like this,” Alexander stops him, because that’s a dangerous thread to walk. “Not by teaming up with terrorists.”

Laurens deflates. “I know,” he admits. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you do it for me?” Alexander blurts out before he changes his mind.

“What?”

“Before, on the roof, you said you asked the ULA to kill Eacker because I was so sad about Philip this morning. Is it true?”

“I–I don’t know,” Laurens stumbles. “It was definitely part of it. I couldn’t stand to see you like that, I’d have done anything to make you feel better. But to be honest, I was already trying to figure out a way to get back at him. Here,” he says, standing up to pick something out of his backpack and hand it to Alexander.

It’s a notebook, and it’s opened on a page with a sketch of Philip. Philip and Alexander, actually. They’re half-lying on Philip’s bed back in Eliza’s old apartment, reading together from a tome as big as the kid’s head, and they look almost… alive, pun unintended. Like they were captured in a real moment rather than imagined or drawn from memory. And maybe they were.

“Did you do this at Eliza’s home? That night you came along?” Alexander asks, remembering how Laurens spent most of the evening drawing.

He nods. “I wanted to study, but as you may remember I wasn’t really in the right headspace to focus. So I started doodling on my notes instead, thought I’d take the chance to practice drawing real people since I don’t do it all that often.”

Alexander runs a finger on the page, tracing the shape of Philip’s hair, his face. Practice? This already looks as true to life as a photograph.

“I forgot all about it when I moved home, of course, but this morning…” Laurens runs a nervous hand through his hair, finally smoothing it back a little. “I was already upset about the Schuylers dropping the case, and then I go to class and open my notes and there he is. Philip. Looking fucking alive, like he would right now if it hadn’t been for that asshole. And I… I lost it, you know? I couldn’t bear the thought of him being still here when Philip isn’t. It was just so unfair.”

“It is,” Alexander agrees. He won’t let his own grief blind him, though. “But it doesn’t excuse what you did.”

“Yeah, I know that. I knew it even as I dialed Samuel’s number to ask him if we could meet. That’s what’s really fucked up about this whole thing – I knew I’d regret it, and I still couldn’t help it.”

“God, Laurens.” Alexander falls back on the bed. “You can’t keep going like this, don’t you get that? You need to do something about all that shit in your head.”

“You mean like going back to therapy?” Laurens asks. “‘cause of course I’m doing that. Big time, and for real this time. Don’t look at me like that – I heard what Mulligan said, okay? And he’s right. If this mess isn’t enough to push me back on track, nothing else will be.”

Alexander gives him a single nod of approval. “Good. That’s the spirit.”

“You think it’ll be enough?”

“I think that’s up to you.”

Laurens lies back down too, but on his belly. Chin resting on his hands, eyes staring into Alexander’s with a shaky kind of intensity. “I’m scared,” he admits. “I know I’m kind of a hopeless case, and even if I do find someone who can actually help me… that’s gonna be like once, maybe twice a week. It leaves me with a lot of free time to fuck things up.”

“You’ll be fine,” Alexander reassures him, turning on his side to stroke his arm gently. “I know you can be an idiot sometimes, but you’re still smart enough to learn from your mistakes. I truly believe that.”

“You’ve always had way too much faith in me,” Laurens says, but he’s smiling. “I just wish I could apply for some kind of 24/7 help. You know, kinda like a sponsor except you don’t call them when you’re itching for a drink, you call them when you might be about to make a terrible decision.”

“I think those are called your friends,” Alexander supplies. “And family. And boyfriend.”

Laurens huffs. “Don’t know how many of those I have left.”

“Boyfriends? I really wish I could be more supportive, but honestly, that’s what you get for sleeping around so much,” Alexander quips.

“I meant all the people you said,” Laurens clarifies.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic. We’re here for you, alright?” He runs his knuckles down Laurens’ cheek, tender, and adds in an undertone: “Especially me.”

Laurens smiles weakly, hope and fear in his eyes. “Yeah? What happened to _we’re terrible for each other_?”

“You were right. You’re the one who’s doing terrible. I’m the one who’s gonna stand in your corner and give you all the help you need while you get better.”

“Alexander…”

“Your next words better be ‘I love you too’,” Alexander warns, “because if you’re about to say one more time that you don’t deserve me or some shit like that…”

“But it’s true! I don’t,” Laurens insists. “Not yet, at least. You said it yourself, I’m doing terrible. What right do I have to ask you to put up with that?”

“So what, only perfectly healthy people deserve to be loved?” Alexander counters. “Because if that’s the case, I’m even worse boyfriend material than you. I mean, look at me, I’m literally a zombie. I have to take a shot of medicine every day, and all I need to do is skip one and I’ll be trying to eat your face. Does it sound like a promising basis for a healthy, lasting relationship to you?”

“That’s different.”

“True, _your_ illness is never going to harm me directly,” Alexander says, smug. “But the point still stands. We both have issues, and we’re both dealing with them. That’s all we need to do to _deserve_ love, if you ask me. Beyond that, you can’t rationalize it. It comes down to how we feel and what we want, and I want to be with you. Besides, we tried being apart and that misery is the last thing I need right now.”

“Me too,” Laurens admits in a whisper. Slowly, tentatively, he rests his head on Alexander’s chest and lets him tangle his fingers with his. “Forget about me,” he says, “you’re too good for the entire world.”

“I’ve always suspected that,” Alexander says, and closes his eyes.


	39. AKA Epilogue – In which Angelica wraps things up

It’s 11 AM, and Angelica is turning the Archive’s sign to _Open_ – just like she does every Sunday morning at the exact same time. There are no clients waiting outside, but that’s expected. It’s going to be five to ten minutes before the morning crowd starts showing up; after eight years behind the Archive’s bar, she knows that. She knows who’s coming and when and what they’re going to order. By now it’s a well-practiced routine.

Her 22-year-old self would have flipped if she’d known she was on her way to becoming this person, Angelica muses as she rearranges the liquor bottles behind the bar. The kind of person who does pretty much the same things every day, and _enjoys_ it. She used to be a restless romantic, eager to do something new and meaningful every day, to prove her worth beyond her parents’ reach. Turning into a laid-back woman who’ll have her daily routine pried from her cold dead hands would probably have appeared to her a fate worse than death.

Then again, her 22-year-old self can suck it. Angelica is happy, beloved and as successful as she needs to be. Her life is so much better than a college girl in the middle of a rebellious crisis could ever imagine. And reliable isn’t a synonym for boring. Yes, some days, just like some people, come and go without leaving much of an impact. Some days are plain boring. Others are just business as usual, coffees and drinks and conversations she won’t remember two weeks later. That’s life without a script.

But just like people, some special days are there to stick around. Like the evening of exactly one year ago when Burr brought a friend over – a friend! They’d both object to that definition, but it’s the most fitting she can come up with – and Alexander Hamilton became part of their collective lives. A loud, loyal, brave, sometimes exasperating part Angelica can’t imagine living without now. Or like the day back in the summer when they inaugurated the new Archive – the first PDS bar in New York.

Angelica looks over to the wall to her right, where Laurens’ careful hand traced the likeness of Philip. Left side, looking up with a curious expression. White line on a black surface. Not quite as colorful and vibrant as Angelica had pictured it, but it does fit the place way better. And it’s so much more powerful this way. Someone mentioned to her that he looks like a little ghost – Laurens painted him so true to life that he looks almost alive, but they aren’t going to forget he isn’t. They’re not going to pretend it’s okay.

And it seems they’re not the only ones. Not even a week after the inauguration, a poem showed up on the wall, right under Philip’s eyes. No title, but it was signed H. D.

“Hailey Dolls,” Alexander guessed. “You guys never heard of her? She was a writer from the Heights. Poetry, mostly, but she published a couple really good articles about her experience as a PDS woman of color. And well, her poems were really political too. The kind of stuff that pisses bigots off. She was found in an alley with her head bashed in last February.”

“She belongs on Philip’s wall, then,” Eliza decided, and the poem stayed.

After that, it took no time for the news to spread and people to come ask if they could have their own mementos displayed on the wall. Angelica green-lighted almost all of them. Victims of the War and the treatment centers, martyrs of the PDS cause, even a couple of living allies – they all joined Philip on the wall with their pictures, their work, their stories, and sometimes even with completely random objects that only mean something to the people who love them. Don’t believe it? The twin sister of a guy who killed himself after he was tortured for eight months in a treatment center asked to have a bright pink slinky hung on the wall in his memory. An activist’s wife brought her wedding ring rather than burying it with her. All these people who were told by the world that their loved ones were monsters, that they’d deserved every horrible thing that happened to them, they found a place to share their grief. To remember the ones they lost and find someone who will remember with them.

Eliza still tears up thinking about it. Angelica does too sometimes, but only when no one’s around. She has a badass reputation to protect.

No one’s coming in for a few more minutes, though, so today she lets one or two tears roll down her cheeks. There’s sadness in them, but also love. So much love. When she opened her bar all those years ago she called it the Archive because she wanted it to be a place where people made memories, and it’s become so much more – a place where they bring their memories to make sure they never die.

On second thought, her 22-year-old self would be pretty freakin’ proud of her.

  

The sun goes down and they all come in together, like a swarm of zombies out for blood. Or like a bunch of friends that enjoy each other’s company a little too much.

“My saviors!” Angelica welcomes them. “Thank God you’re here, I was getting bored out of my mind. Sunday evenings are way too dead for my taste.”

“You came to the right people, then,” Lafayette says as they all take a seat at the bar. “We’re the experts on making things undead.”

“Nice one.” Mulligan high-fives him.

Angelica crinkles her nose. “Oh, come on. Zombie puns? Isn’t this getting a little old?”

“Brilliant humor never gets old, my dear,” Lafayette argues. He exchanges a complicit glance with Mulligan and Angelica knows exactly what he’s going to say next. “Much like a zombie. We’ll be here to amuse you for a very, very long time.”

“Lucky me,” Angelica says. She has to act like the adult around here – it’s expected of her. Truth be told, though, she doesn’t mind her friends’ silliness one bit.

Especially Lafayette’s. It’s the smallest, most incredible sign that he’s getting better. Little by little, one slightly less haunted smile after the other. Angelica doubts he’ll be walking into a hospital with his head high and in total control of his emotions any time soon, but nobody is asking him to. Just seeing him joke around like he used to is a better miracle than they dared hope for.

The power of group therapy. Angelica still has to congratulate Eliza for finding the right solution once again.

“Actually,” Laurens interjects, “a doctor in Holland just proved that that’s not technically true. The neurotryptiline slows down your decaying process to a point where it’s almost imperceptible, but it’s still happening. So even though you don’t _look_ older, you’re technically aging in your own way.”

Lafayette blinks once. “That sounds like a very pulsist study.”

“Not everything you don’t like is pulsist, you know,” Laurens says, rolling his eyes.

“It is if I say so.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“I changed my mind, I think I liked boredom better,” Angelica quips as she sets a beer in front of everyone. Hoping it’ll get them to shut up. “Alexander, you’re strangely quiet tonight. Care to elevate the level of the discussion?”

“Hey!” Lafayette puts up a mock protest. Angelica stops herself moments before sticking her tongue at him. So much for being mature.

“Sorry, I guess I’m a little distracted,” Alexander admits. “I can’t get my mind off this case. I should…”

“Oh no no no no no,” Mulligan cuts him off. “We have a deal, remember? You’re free to run off with your buddy Burr when he shows up and you two can talk shop all night, but until then the c-word is banished. It’s your night, man, you deserve to relax.”

“I completely agree. That’s why I was about to say that I should get so drunk I forget all about work tonight.”

Mulligan rewards him with his biggest grin. “That’s the spirit!”

“Should I keep them coming, then?” Angelica inquires.

“ _Bien sûr_ ,” Lafayette confirms. “It’s a party!”

“Yeah? What are we celebrating?”

“Our one year anniversary,” Alexander supplies, and then he purses his lips in a thoughtful expression. “Mine and yours as well, actually. I’m a little hurt you didn’t remember,” he teases.

“In her defense, we’re pretty much always celebrating something. It’s hell to keep up,” Laurens comes to her rescue. Angelica always knew he was one of the good ones.

“Like you mind. Is it me or is that bottle in front of you already empty?”

“That is so not the point. You know I don’t need an excuse to drink. You guys, on the other hand…”

“Okay, so what if they’re just excuses?” Alexander counters, and he’s got that self-satisfied little smirk on his face, the one that means he’s about to deliver the final blow that will win him the argument. Angelica likes it a lot more when it’s not directed at her. “They’re still valid. I’m happy I picked a fight with those pulsists one year ago and you guys jumped to my rescue. I do feel like it’s something worth celebrating. And if we have a lot of things worth celebrating for, it doesn’t mean they’re not important. It just means we’re lucky.”

At some point during his little speech, the smirk turned into a genuine smile. Fond and grateful and hopelessly in love. Angelica would tease him about it if she didn’t feel so self-conscious. The way Alexander looks as Laurens, that’s how anyone would want to be looked at by a loved one. Making fun of it would just seem resentful.

Laurens seems to melt under that smile. Angelica can’t blame him. “Yeah. Some of us more than others,” he says, leaning over to kiss Alexander on the cheek.

“If it makes you feel any better, anyway,” Angelica tells Alexander when he’s done making googly eyes at his boyfriend, “I didn’t forget. And I have proof – I got you something.”

She grabs the box she set under the counter the day before and puts it on the bar. Predictably, all four friends are on it in a second, curious to find out what’s in it. The honor of opening it and unraveling its content, though, is indisputably Alexander’s.

“A set of glasses?” he asks, confused.

Angelica smiles. “Take a better look.”

He does. He takes one of the glasses out of the box and turns it over in his hands, slender fingers against the slender surface. It only takes him a moment to return Angelica’s smile.

“Custom made glasses,” he amends, passing over the one he was holding for Laurens to inspect. “With the new Archive logo and everything. This is so cool, Angelica.”

“Isn’t it?” she agrees, smug. “They came in yesterday morning, but I wanted to keep them for a special occasion. Have you checked the new logo?”

“There’s a gray-white-and-red quill behind the Archive’s _V_ ,” Laurens points out. He meets Angelica’s eyes. “In honor of the fallen PDS writers?” he tries to guess.

Angelica shakes her head. “We have the wall for them. This is for you guys – the ones who are still fighting with their words.” She looks at Alexander, and for once she can’t quite read his expression. “I know a bar logo is far from being enough of a legacy for you, but I thought it might be a nice start.”

“Are you kidding me? Angelica, this is perfect.” There it is now, something Angelica can recognize. It’s the face he makes when he’s grateful he can’t cry anymore. “I knew you must like us a little,” he says, playing it cool.

“After all the good press you gave to this place?” she counters. “I love you guys. I mean, you think I could afford custom made glasses if it wasn’t for you? Or that I’d even have bothered having them made if there was a chance vandals would come in and destroy everything?“

“That could still happen,” Mulligan warns her. “I was promised that the police car patrolling the neighborhood would add this street to its rounds, but that just makes it a little harder for pulsists to come here and vandalize the place. It isn’t a guarantee that they’ll stop.”

“Look, all I know is that I haven’t had to replace the window in over two months now. It’s a new record.”

“Don’t worry, _mon cherie_ , Mulligan is just being modest,” Lafayette says, throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “The truth is no one will mess with you as long as you have a decorated anti-terrorism hero fighting in your corner.”

There’s affection in Mulligan’s eyes, but sadness too. “Will you stop saying that? There was nothing heroic about that mission.”

Laurens looks down. Much like in Lafayette’s case, these last few months of therapy seem to have helped him, but he isn’t getting over his guilt any time soon. He once told Angelica he isn’t even sure he wants to. As long as he can feel it, he said, he has a reason to try and do better with the chance he’s been given. It seems a little out of character for someone who advocates so ardently against using guilt to determine if PDS patients are ready to be reintegrated into society, but Laurens has always been harder on himself than on anybody else.

Lucky for him, his family is all about forgiving. Alexander squeezes his hand at the same time as Angelica makes a new drink appear in front of him, and Laurens smiles at them both, grateful.

“Not true, Mulls,” Alexander steps in. “You were a hero to all of us that day.”

“Still are,” Lafayette adds.

Laurens doesn’t say anything. He must feel like it isn’t his place to decide whether his life was worth the sacrifice it took to save it. He’s smiling faintly at Mulligan, though, something he wouldn’t have done a month ago.

Angelica wants to put her own two cents in, to remind Mulligan that they’re a family and that’s what families do, they put each other first no matter the consequences, but before she has the chance to do it the Archive’s door opens and Eliza, Maria and Theodosia come in.

“We’re here, bitches!” Maria exclaims.

“Wait, you invited _girls_?” Alexander asks in a fake shocked tone that Angelica would give anything not to find as funny as she does. “ _Now_ it’s a party!”

“Does it mean I’m getting paid for tonight?” Maria asks, nonplussed, as she takes her scarf off. “‘cause I could use the cash. I haven’t had a decent gig in months thanks to my stupid community service.”

“How many hours you got left?” Alexander inquires.

She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Too many. Alcohol, please?” she adds, looking at Angelica this time.

“Coming right up,” she promises. “Check out the glasses in the meantime.”

“They’re here?” Eliza asks, and almost throws herself into the box in her rush to see them. “Wow. They’re so beautiful, Angie. Well done.”

“And subtly on point,” Theodosia joins in, running a finger along the PDS colors of the quill.

“Yeah, all that,” Maria approves. “So can we christen them yet?”

Angelica laughs. “I’m waiting for Burr to show up for the big toast,” she explains, and hands her a glass of red. “But you can have this in the meantime.”

“See, that’s why you’re my favorite,” Maria says, before turning her undivided attention to her wine.

“He’s going to be a bit late,” Theodosia supplies. “Aaron, I mean. He texted me a few minutes ago, said he’ll be stuck at dinner with his aunt and uncle until at least 8:30 and not to tell you lads under pain of death.”

Alexander sniggers. “Duly noted.”

“Well, that’s actually good news,” Lafayette decides. “It means we have more time to get our boy Hammie drunk before Burr snatches him away.”

“Come on, it’s Hams,” Laurens says. “He’s probably drunk from his one beer already.”

He gets pushed off his stool for that.

“Oww! You _fucker_.”

“Sorry. I wanted to pat you on the back and say _You really know me, babe_ , but it looks like I’m already so drunk I messed that up,” Alexander deadpans.

Laurens pulls himself up just enough to try and drag Alexander to the floor with him. “Oh, you are so going down.”

Time for Angelica to step in. “Guys? In case you haven’t heard me before, I haven’t had to replace anything of note in the last two months. Let’s try not to change that, okay?”

It works. They stop brawling and apologize and Laurens sits back in his place. He’s still looking at Alexander suspiciously, but that’s between the two of them.

To Alexander’s credit, he’s still in pretty good shape when Burr catches up with them almost an hour later. Good enough to talk his ear off about the case, at least, although Angelica can’t vouch for how much sense he’s going to make.

“Mr. Burr, finally!” he playfully rebukes him. “I know you’re a big family man and all, but we have lives to save. You could at least have tried to cop out of dessert.”

Burr doesn’t dignify him with a reply, turning to Theodosia instead. “You told him.”

“I know,” she admits. “I know I did, but technically this is your fault for trusting me in the first place, frog.”

“Mm. I’ll keep that in mind for future reference, scorpion.”

“You guys have the most adorable pet names,” Laurens interjects. “They’re just so _you_.”

Alexander and Mulligan snort-laugh. Lafayette cackles. Man, Angelica’s friends are terrible.

“Am I here to work or to endure your comedy routine?” Burr asks Alexander, unfazed. “Because as you might have heard, I spent the better part of the day with my relatives. I believe I’ve endured enough for at least the next month.”

“My bad, man,” Laurens says, grabbing one of the unopened beer bottles in front of him and handing it to Burr as some sort of peace offering. “Relatives are the worst.”

Burr blinks. “Did you just insult my family?”

Laurens opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “I give up, I’m never going to win with you.”

“Took you long enough to realize it.” He turns to Alexander once again. “So. Do you want to talk or should I just come find you at work tomorrow?”

“No, we’re presenting our strategy to the big boss tomorrow, we need to organize,” Alexander insists.

“Fair enough. Lead the way, then.”

“Just one second. Angelica, I believe you wanted to toast?”

She already has the champagne ready. The cork comes off with a loud pop and an explosion of cheers and clapping and shouting. Yeah, an off-hours work meeting was probably the only way they could lure Burr into taking part in something like this. Not that he seems too displeased, stretching over the bar to have his and Theodosia’s glasses filled to the brim.

Angelica makes sure she meets everyone’s eyes as she pours the champagne. Eliza’s are glittering with pride, her love for her sister outshining her ever-present heartbreak if only for one night. Maria’s are more beautiful than ever, sharing a complicit smile and maybe even the promise of _something_ , if only Angelica could stop being so afraid for once. Under the elation of the alcohol and good company, Mulligan’s are guarded as usual, and it breaks Angelica’s heart that even around his friends he still feels like he can’t open up completely. She looks for distress or fear in Lafayette’s after all the commotion and she finds only love and excitement. And Laurens… In Laurens’ eyes burns the same fire Angelica saw when she first met him, but it doesn’t look on the verge of getting out of control and burning everything down anymore. It makes her believe he’s going to be okay.

Alexander is looking right into her eyes too, and Angelica sees everything she feels reflected right back at her. All the pride and love and ambition. All the loss, all the hope. And that unshakable resolve to keep fighting.

It’s too strong, too much for her to put into words. Lucky for her, she knows exactly the right guy for the job.

“Feel like giving a speech?” she asks, and Alexander smiles.

“Always.” He jumps on the bar and sits down, everyone around him going quiet because by now they know what that means. “January 11th. Does the date mean anything to you? Yeah, apart from you, Laurens. No? I guessed as much. It’s my birthday, actually. And now I bet you’re feeling like assholes for not knowing, but really, it’s okay. How were you supposed to know? I’ve never told you, because I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore. I hear it’s pretty common among PDS sufferers – some decide to forsake their original birthday in favor of their rebirth-day, the day they were released from the treatment center. So do you know when I was released?”

Uncomfortable looks are exchanged. Even Laurens looks lost this time around. A part of Angelica’s brain is putting clues together and trying to place the date – must be around late August, early September, but it looks like Alexander is asking for the exact day? How the hell are they supposed to know that? Mostly, though, she’s busy regretting asking Alexander to give a speech. This is so not what she was picturing.

“September 8th,” Alexander finally provides when it becomes obvious nobody else knows. “You couldn’t guess that one either, because again, I’ve never told any of you. I don’t really feel like either of those days is important. It’s true. While my life began in January and my second life in September, it all became meaningful only one year ago. The day I met you guys.”

Angelica smiles. She can’t believe she let Alexander’s rhetoric fool her once again.

“So let’s raise a glass to this past year. I know it’s been full of heartbreak and injustice, I know we’d all change so much of it if we could, but let me tell you one thing. They kept telling us how lucky we were at the treatment centers. How we’d been blessed with a second chance at life, how death had only been a small detour for us. And I guess it was true to some extent, we did crawl out of our graves and all, but it was impossible to feel alive when everything that happened between those walls was about stitching us back together like a sad mockery of what we’d used to be. And then we got out and the differences became even more jarring. We hadn’t come back to life, we’d just come back and now we were sort of… there, for people to fear and ridicule and vent their anger on. It didn’t feel like a blessing then, it felt more like a cautionary tale.”

He’s looking far away, and for a moment Angelica can almost picture him like he looked that first night, tiny and scruffy and barely held together by some stubborn refusal to give up. She has to suppress a sudden urge to throw her arms around him and tell him how proud she is of him.

Instead, she turns her attention to the other people in the room, and her heart breaks at the recognition in Lafayette’s, Mulligan’s, Maria’s, even Burr’s eyes. This isn’t just Alexander’s experience, Angelica realizes. They all felt that way at some point. Maybe they still do.

“But then I met all of you,” Alexander carries on, “and I realized those treatment center therapists had been right all along. I had been blessed. I was alive – not again but for the first time. It’s like my life before then was just preparation, and things only got real when I got here. I mean, think of all we’ve done this past year – for each other and for the PDS community. I’ve always been terrified of dying before I got to do something that mattered and I used to think I had to climb to the top to do that, but I was wrong. What we’re doing here, the wall, the protests, the cases, they all matter. They’re probably not going to go down as the most significant events in PDS history but what do historians know anyway? They weren’t chanting with us at King’s College or at the Albany treatment center. They will never know that the Randalls bought PDS-friendly OJ because Philip taught them to, or that Eliza helped dozens of living realize that our being back was as much of a blessing to them as it was to us. They can’t see the eyes of the countless different people that come here every day, the gratitude and relief and _peace_ it gives them to find a place where everything they’ve lost isn’t just remembered, it’s cherished. And why wouldn’t it be? It’s the fuel that allows us to go into battle day after day after day. It’s our eternal reminder that we have everything to fight for. And we might be a long way away from winning, but we’re getting a little closer with each step and when that day comes, when there’s no ‘us’ and ‘them’ anymore, when PDS people will finally be seen as just people, well, the historians are going to write about _that_. And we will always know it would never have happened without all the work and sacrifice that history forgot.”

Angelica can’t help but raise her head with pride. In herself, in the bar she devoted her life to and that turned out to be worth it, in her wonderful, fearless family, in the countless PDS sufferers that keep fighting the good fight. Alexander is right, they are changing the world.

“So let’s raise a glass to this past year,” he says again. “To how much we’ve learned and grown, to all of our good work, to every drunken, happy, lonely, awkward, triumphant, horrible, incredible moment. I’d change a lot of this year if I could go back, but I’d keep so much exactly as it was. And I just _know_ you’re going to make fun of me for how cheesy this is but I don’t care. I love you guys. From the bottom of my cold undead heart, I love all of you.” He raises his glass, and while everyone else cheers and hollers and yes, teases him, he jumps off the bar, turns to Burr, and says: “Okay, break’s over. Let’s give ‘em hell.”

Oh, they will.

 

_\- fin -_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. Wow. I've been working on this story for almost two years and never in a million years would I have thought that a) it'd end up being so fucking long, and b) I'd actually finish it, but here we are. Thank you so much for sticking with me through the missed updates and the frustrating cliffhangers and the PAIN. As I might have mentioned before, I never would have made it without your unfaltering support and feedback. I hope you guys get to be as happy as your comments made me as often as humanly possible, because it's the best feeling in the world and you all deserve it <3
> 
> I'm THIS close to shutting up for good I promise. I just have a quick question for my frequent (or even one-time only, really) commenters – would it be okay with you if I took some quotes from your comments and put them in the story summary? Kinda like cover blurbs? I think it might look cool and it's a way for me to show how much I appreciated them and yes, it's mostly just a really good excuse for me to re-read all of your comments and have Feels =X ;] Anyhow, do let me know if you'd be up for it.
> 
> Thanks again, hope to read from y'all around! ^^


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